Made Of Stars
by liliumweiss
Summary: When Emma is bought and sent off to Drogheda, she expects to be the wife of a disgusting man. What she doesn't expect is that her husband is Killian Jones, renowned artist. Trying to be the perfect wife Madame Mills had taught her to be, Emma will soon discover Killian's secret agenda as well as feelings she had never felt before, that she can't understand. PLEASE READ WARNINGS!
1. Chapter 1

**Hi, this is my first fanfiction - okay, not the first per se, since I write since I was fourteen/fifteen, but it's the first one I translated in english.**

 **I'd like to start with a WARNING, so, please, read this because it'll explain what I want to do with this fic:**

 **1\. This is a story about human traffic, so if that's a trigger for you, please don't read.**

 **2\. This isn't exactly the Emma we know, she's really, really broken, more broken than the real Emma, and some of her thoughts may be kind of disturbing, like she has to be the perfect wife, she has to do what her husband says... that kind of things. I'd also like to say that this is NOT my idea of what a wife should be, at all, it's all about the sake of the plot, so please, don't insult me or this fic trying to say that I want people to believe these things. I don't want that. This is a story about healing in more ways that one, and there's also a little crime, smut, love... but more importantly, it will be about healing.**

 **3\. As I said, this story is about healing, but I am not a psychologist nor I want to pretend to be one, so please do not come at me for Emma's thoughts or Killian's choices.**

 **4\. I love Killian Jones with all my heart, and this fic is not anti-Killian, at all. Yes, he buys Emma, and I don't condone this choice (ok, I'm the author, but, again, it's the plot) and we'll see why he did this choice, but not now.**

 **5\. Even if it doesn't seem so, everything in this fic will be consensual, every kiss, every touch. Yes, it could be read as dub-con since Emma's mind is kinda twisted, but it isn't. Everything they'll do, she wants it.**

 **6\. Updates. Argh, updates don't mix well with a student's life, right? Too right. I'm a slow writer if I can't find inspirations, or else I'm capable of writing lot of pages in a day. Still, I have university to consider, and I'm four exams and a thesis away from my degree, and I have to study, but this is also my baby, and I promise you, I'll finish it, one way or another. But please, don't beg me for more, because I've 9 chapters written even though I started it more than a year ago (does it help saying that there are 115 pages? yes? no?) and I know how I want it to go on. I have it all planned, I just need to put it into words.**

 **7\. Like I said, I'm italian, so I have to translate it (I could not do that, but it would be even more difficult) and it takes time and a lot of attention. Still, something might escape me, so please, bear with me and my mistakes, I'll try not to make them, but I'm not perfect.**

 **So, a little backstory: this fic came to me right affter last year's Eurovision - in fact the title comes from one of its songs, one I love even if it was a little snobbed - and it actually doesn't have a lot of backstory, more like a nagging thought. So I sat down and started to write this story, trying to come up with a reason Killian would buy Emma, how bring justice to her, how make them fall in love but keeping them behind their sky-high walls (because yes, even Killian has walls - like he always had). I love this fic even if I have a lot of them in my pc, but this is something important to me and that's why I want to share it with you.** **And it's set in 2016, not in 2017.**

 **Thank you so much, I hope you enjoy this first chapter.**

 **Love,**

 **Sara.**

«S-sold?»

Emma Swan knew that, since Madame Mills had taken her away from that horrible foster home when she was thirteen, that day would come. Only, she didn't expect it to come so soon.

«Bought, purchased; in your case, married,» Cora Mills replied with her usual sugary smile, lips as red as the sins she provided.

It wasn't news that the girls were bought for more or less legal purposes – not that those deals were legal, that is.

Madame Mills' activity was one of the most devious and miserable ones: escorts, prostitutes, masseuses, _wives_.

Because, yes, there were dishonourable men that stooped so low and bought themselves a wife; for what purposes, Emma could only imagine.

There were men that bought women for sex, maybe they'd tried them once and they'd been satisfied, or they wanted a partner – read: slave – who would do anything she was asked. In some cases, they married only because they wanted to have a partner to show off in public, someone whom they'd never actually care about. Not that they would care about them at all, obviously, none of Madame Mills' girls ever found her happy ending, or at least not the one Emma had wanted so much when she was a child, before she had to give it up because no one had ever wanted her.

But now she was actually _married_. Of course, she would become a trophy wife, or a slave wife, just like they had taught her for all those years.

They'd broken her, extinguishing that fire she had inside, the same one that made her feel alive. Now, after years spent learning how to pleasure a man, working out in the gym to maintain her body lithe and firm, distancing more and more her heart from what surrounded her, Emma Swan was nothing more than an empty shell.

Sitting on the other side of the mahogany desk, hands curled up in fists in her lap, Emma took a deep breath. It was absurd, she wasn't even wearing a ring, yet she was already married. Even more absurd was the fact that she didn't even know who her husband was, but that was the way things went with Madame Mills; the future of the girls was a one-way street, already written for all they knew.

It happened, in fact, that a family wanted a marriage of convenience for their daughter, and the only way to transform her into a docile young girl was sending her to Cora Mills, headmistress of that institute, that prison from whence a girl could get out only through a man.

«Where to?» she asked dryly, forcing herself not to cry. She knew she didn't have a choice, none of them in there did.

Cora smiled, if possible, even more widely, so much she resembled the Cheshire Cat. The sight gave Emma chills. «Oh, dear, you'll like it,» she replied, putting a manila folder with her name on it in front of Emma.

One of the golden rules was that none of the girls could know their husbands or their clients before meeting them in person, which sometimes led to cries and hysterical screams, especially for those who sold their bodies. Wives were allowed to know where they would go and where they would live the rest of their lives in addition to a short story to memorize and some of their husbands' biographical data and personal preferences in order to make it all more believable.

Reluctantly, Emma grabbed the folder and opened it, revealing a photo of a house – no, not a house, a _manor_ – surrounded by sparkling green lawns and topped by a dull grey sky that somehow didn't clash with the landscape. It seemed too beautiful to be true, snow white and seemingly harmonious, almost promising a happy ending. It could have come out straight from a fairytale if only fairytales were real.

«Ah, yes, the fascination of Ireland,» Cora sighed almost dreamily. «It doesn't mean you'll have to stay there all the time, of course not, on the contrary, I predict a lot of journeys on the horizon for you. That is if he'd like to bring you with him.»

Emma's mind had stopped at _Ireland_.

It was inconceivable. Of course, Madame had contacts everywhere, but from what she had heard since she had arrived there, no girl was ever sold to someone on the other side of the ocean. She would have been the first, and she didn't like it at all.

Being thousands of miles away from there meant she couldn't be with Ruby anymore, passing the nights watching old movies and gossiping about celebrities' lives. She couldn't watch the sun set on New York anymore, inflaming the landscape, while she tried not to think about her future, wishing she could stop the time at that exact moment.

«When?»

There wasn't much Emma could do, she simply had to endure what was happening to her. Every night, when she curled up under the covers of her bed, she told herself she would bear everything, that she was strong enough not to be overwhelmed by desperation. Since she was welcomed in there, the desperate cries and the screams stifled by the pillow had diminished considerably during the years, but nothing would stop her from sinking down again in that state of anguish once she arrived in her new home.

 _Home_ , what a stupid thought. To her, that house would be yet another prison, an orphan didn't have a home.

«You'll leave this evening with the 9pm flight and you'll land tomorrow morning in Dublin. Non-stop flight, first class. When you'll arrive, you'll find a chauffeur who'll take you to your new home.» Emma kept her eyes lowered, looking at the folder she had in her lap without actually seeing it. «Oh, my dear, it could have been definitely worse, trust me.»

Emma tried to turn her lips upwards into a smile but it turned out more like a grimace. What fate was worse than being _sold_ as a wife to a perfect stranger? Not even death was that horrible.

«Come on, now, go pack your bags, I want you ready by five thirty, God only knows how awful is traffic in New York. »

«Can Ruby come with me?» Emma asked, looking shyly at Cora. Be accompanied by another girl wasn't forbidden, but it was extremely rare, mostly because no one remained there too long to form a friendship or wanting one, seeing the other girls as an obstacle to their so-called freedom. Emma and Ruby had arrived almost at the same time and, since then, they had always been in the same room, becoming inseparable over time. Emma needed her courage to take that flight and to make her understand that she didn't have any other choice but to abandon her and that they'd call each other daily, if necessary.

Cora chuckled. «Of course, dear, I'm not heartless.»

 _Explain that to the girls you've sold like meat for the grinder_ , Emma thought bitterly, biting hard on her tongue to restrain herself to spit those poisonous words.

«This is the folder about your new husband, inside you'll find all the basic information about him along with your boarding card. Now go.»

Closing the folder about the house and taking the one Madame Mills was handing her, Emma strode out of the room, keeping herself from running towards her bedroom once the door was closed behind her, hot tears rolling down her cheeks.

Once she crossed the door of her room, Emma dashed over her bed, trying desperately to suffocate herself with the pillow while she kept crying.

«Emma, what happened? What did Madame Mills tell you?»

Ruby had rushed to her side the moment she'd seen her and now she was stroking lovingly her back to comfort her. She knew she couldn't do much for her; actually, she couldn't do _anything_ , no one could stop her from leaving.

They'd heard many stories about girls who had tried to escape from the airports once they had landed, and because of that they had armed with microchips they'd implant underneath the skin of their wrists to supervise their movements, keeping in touch constantly with their future jailers. Then, it was up to these men to remove the chip and destroy it.

Keeping a firm grip on her, Ruby forced Emma to turn around and brushed her hair off her face. She knew too well what Cora had said to her, both were doomed to be bought to get married. At first, Ruby was listed to be an escort, but Cora eventually had thought that people would have paid an arm and a leg to have her.

To be honest, Emma had never been able to understand why she had always been listed as a wife; she doubted that someone wanted to train her, after all it was Cora who'd found her. Sure, she could have been sent by someone, but Emma doubted it since she didn't know anybody. No one knew Emma, no one wanted her – starting from her parents.

«I have to… I have to go to Ireland, Rubes,» Emma cried out as more tears spilled down her cheeks. Her chin trembled as she launched herself on Ruby, plunging her face in the thick black hair of her best friend, the closest thing to a family she had ever had.

«Oh, _Emma_ ,» Ruby sighed, clutching her tightly, unconcerned about the two folders pressed between them, now probably all crinkled.

«I don't want to go away,» Emma whispered, her voice hoarse from crying. She didn't want that life, the one as a trophy wife or prostitute wife, she didn't even know what was her role anymore. Maybe it would've been better if she had stayed in the system, maybe someone would have wanted her, maybe…

Maybes weren't enough, _reality_ wasn't made of maybes. What she was living _now_ was reality, a reality that had made her into an object a man had bought because, maybe, he was too much nauseating to find himself a wife, or too old, or… Actually, she didn't even know what to think, Cora's words kept swirling around in her mind, first of all _Ireland_.

How could she send her to the other side of the world? How could she do what she did everyday to all the girls she pretended to help by getting them off the streets? How could she do this to _her_? Emma was no one to Cora, just a number, just a mean to add money to her bank account at the Seychelles, nothing more than an object.

«I know,» Ruby whispered rubbing her back and passing her finger through her hair almost motherly. It was ridiculous, Emma didn't even know how it was to have a mother, but she needed Ruby, in that moment more than anything.

Ruby couldn't ask her to run away, couldn't help her going on with her life in Ireland, whatever her life would be. Emma could only count on her from afar, assuming she was allowed to. Anguish bloomed in her chest at the thought that her husband would forbid her to live her partial freedom – if you could call it freedom, slavery was more fitting but definitely more brutal and Cora despised that word – wondering if he would allow Emma to keep in touch with her best friend.

They hold each other until Emma stopped trembling, tears to shed crystallized in her green eyes that had lost that faint light she still had after being rejected for years by all those foster families.

Hugging her tighter, Ruby leaned her cheek on Emma's hair. «I'm so sorry, Emma,» she whispered keeping her tears from overwhelming her, she would save them for later, when the bed they were sitting on wouldn't be Emma's anymore, when she would wake up in the middle of the night because of her nightmares and her only family couldn't comfort her anymore, when she would miss the evenings watching a movie or when they would be scolded because they were singing too loudly.

«I just want you to come with me, I want to be able to escape from this place, maybe we can find someone who can remove these damned microchips, someone in some slum in New York, they'll surely know how to make us disappear, we could start over, we could…»

«Emma,» Ruby said softly, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her away slightly, watery eyes looking at her while she shook sadly her head. «Emma, we can't do anything, sweetcheeks, we can't live the life we want. But you've got a chance, you've got the chance to gain something good from all of this, maybe… maybe this new life in Ireland will have some surprises in store for you, maybe it isn't too late to be happy.»

Emma pulled back like she'd been burned from Ruby's words. «My life can't be based on maybes, Ruby, I can't allow myself to hope,» she hissed between her teeth, feeling bad about fighting with her best friend when she should only try to spend more time with her and try to memorize her smile. She looked down on the crumpled folders. «I don't want to say goodbye.»

Biting her lower lip, Ruby shook her head, hugging Emma again. «Neither do I,» she whispered, «and I won't, this isn't goodbye. We'll call each other every day, I'll stay up all night if you'll want me to; you know I'll always be there for you even if I'm a million miles away.»

«We'll find a way, Ruby,» Emma whispered against her shoulder, clinging to her like she was her own lifesaver – and she was, she always had been. «I'll find a way to get you out of here.»

It would have been too good to be true, they both knew that. It was a utopia, but Ruby knew very well that Emma wouldn't make empty promises. «No,» she said sharply, pulling away again from Emma. «I can't let you do something like that, not for me.»

«Ruby, you are the only one who matters to me, I would risk everything for you and I know you'd do the same for me.»

This silenced Ruby for a moment, red lips pressed into a thin line. «You have to promise me that you won't do anything stupid, Emma. Promise me that you won't go on some suicide mission to get me out of here. Promise me, Emma.»

They stared for a long time into each other's eyes, both trying to best the other one. Ruby couldn't allow Emma to go on with her stupid plan, one they had talked about – _argued_ about – and, at the same time, Emma couldn't allow Ruby to end like her or like some of the other girls already sold.

«I promise you,» Emma muttered after a few moments without glancing away, «but if I ever have the chance to get you out of here, I swear on our friendship that I'll take it and you won't stop me.»

The brunette couldn't keep herself from smiling, shaking her head. «I wouldn't expect less from you, Emma.» She looked up at the clock above the door, sighing. «When do you have to leave?»

Right, it wasn't about _ifs_ anymore – it had never been, but you couldn't take away hope all at once, you had to do it slowly over the years.

Emma lowered her gaze, her lip pulled between her teeth. «I have to be ready by five thirty,» she whispered so quietly that Ruby almost didn't hear her, the only confirmation that she did was her surprised wince.

«That's… soon,» she muttered under her breath. Usually the girls were told they would leave a day or two before the actual departure, they would make them sleep in their rooms one last time. It was also true that no one of them had ever gone overseas before. Whoever had bought Emma must have wanted her immediately.

With a simple bob of her head, Emma nodded, conscious that she was running out of time and she was _so tired_ , tired of having to endure all the injustices the world had inflicted and would inflict on her, tired of not being loved or wanted. It was sadly ironic that she would be the one to leave, the one to leave the only person who loved her.

«Go take a shower, you have to… be beautiful and proud like an amazon to face such a long flight and you'll need all the comfort you can imagine.»

Oh, dear, sweet Ruby, how much she would miss her, her jokes and the way only she was able to read her and cheer her up. Emma tried to banish that feeling of loneliness that was already threatening to bloom in her chest. It was too soon to feel alone, she could allow herself to pretend for a few more minutes that all was well even if she knew that then the blow would be more painful.

Regardless, Emma smiled, thankful for having Ruby, it was better than having no one. «Perish the thought,» she said trying to keep her voice light, but her laugh came out gloomy.

«Indeed, so hurry up, I'll be a good girl and pack your bags.»

Emma nodded, squeezing her hand before standing up from the bed, reluctant. «I've asked Madame if you could come with me to the airport,» she said moistening her lips, she absolutely didn't want to repeat the exact same words Cora had said, but Ruby must had read them on her face because she wrinkled her nose, disgusted. «So, get ready.»

 _I don't want to go alone, I don't trust myself enough to do that_. Those were the words Emma needn't to speak aloud, unspoken words that Ruby understood while she turned her back on her and ran into the bathroom.

Without looking at her reflection in the mirror, Emma undressed herself and let the water run in the shower, wondering for the umpteenth time why that was her fate. Taking a deep breath, she slipped under the hot stream, hoping that the water could wash away that awful day, or maybe all those years she had spent in there, all the days since the moment she was born she had spent feeling unwanted by anyone who met her gaze.

To everyone, she had always been the orphan, the lost girl abandoned by the side of a road in Maine, and she would have died of hypothermia if someone wouldn't have miraculously noticed her.

The only thing she had that belonged to her parents was a wool baby blanket with her name embroidered on it – someone _must_ have loved her at least a little to knit that blanket, right? – and the necklace she always wore around her neck.

When she was little, after the Swans had sent her away – it was really ironic that there was a swan on her pendant – she began wearing the necklace as a way for her parents to recognize her, she was certain that if her parents would see it they would take her home with them, reunited like a real, happy family.

Instead, the only person who'd took interest in her, a thirteen-year-old trying to run away in the streets of Chicago, was the one who had locked her up for almost ten years in that luxurious prison in New York.

Covering her face with her hands, Emma collapsed against the tiled wall and slid down until she was sitting under the scorching spray. She hugged her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them and letting the tears blend in with the water.

She wasn't ready to leave, maybe she wouldn't ever be, but she couldn't back down anymore, she couldn't let herself think she wouldn't be the next one, that another girl would satisfy a man's depraved desires.

She stayed in there for a long time, knowing that too much time had passed only when she sensed the first drops of cold water raining on her skin like ice needles.

She stood reluctantly, aware that her time was quickly running out, and poured the shampoo on her palm, starting to massage her hair. Madame wanted every girl to always smell good, therefore she allowed them to buy various cosmetics so their skin would always be shiny and fragrant. Emma had always been biased, she loved everything that smelled of vanilla while Ruby preferred cherry and liquorice as her own signature scents.

Doing her best to ignore the feeling of cold that was numbing her skin, Emma finished washing as if she was an android, as if her mind was disconnected and her body was responding to impulses dictated by someone else. It was ironic that her whole life had always been like that, a puppet's life.

With a sigh, she turned off the water and wrapped herself in her bathrobe, tightening it around her waist like it was an armor. She dried her hair in complete silence, brushing her blonde locks again and again, she didn't want any curl, they didn't seem fit for the trip even though Ruby would be displeased. Beauty was their weapon, but Emma never felt beautiful, nor wanted to pretend to feel like that for a man that maybe had bought her without even looking at her picture.

She forced herself to put on some make-up, by now she could do it with her eyes closed, she had spent years improving what today's teenagers tried to learn from YouTube tutorials. Eyeliner, mascara, eye-shadow, blush, lipstick, she wanted to keep it simple because she knew that Cora would inspect her from head to toe and wouldn't give her approval if she wasn't wearing at least a little make-up.

She finished drying herself off and went back to her room, on her bed the large suitcase was full of her clothes, except for shoes and accessories that Ruby was arranging in the smaller one while sitting on the floor.

Ruby looked up at her, sighing when she noticed her now straight hair. «I've left out some clothes for the trip, but you have to give me the bathrobe and the beauty-case so I can finally close these suitcases.»

Forcing a smile, Emma nodded, grabbing the clothes and going back into the bathroom. She let the bathrobe slip off her body, grabbing the matching underwear Ruby had prepared for her, nothing too alluring, just a white bra and panties without laces or frills. It was maybe the most chaste set she had, Madame Mills had always been strict about the fact that no one of the girls had to wear second-hand clothes or something bought in an outlet. Everything they had were branded products but they couldn't show them off since they rarely went shopping or to take a coffee at the Starbucks around the corner, always escorted, obviously.

It was mid-January, so it was obvious that, even in Ireland, it was cold, and Emma was thankful she hadn't been forced to spend the holidays with her new husband. Ruby had thought about the weather waiting for her and had chosen a white shirt, a beige sweater, jeans and light brown leather knee-high boots with reasonable heels although not too high.

After she had dressed up and put away make-up and brush in her beauty-case, she exited the bathroom and threw the bathrobe to Ruby.

«Oh, sweetheart, if I liked women, I'd jump your bones. Yum,» Ruby snickered, folding the bathrobe and putting it in the suitcase.

Emma rolled her eyes, wondering for the umpteenth time what would she do without Ruby. Trying not to think too much about it, she pulled her hair up in a ponytail, knowing that she'd untie it once she'd got on the plane.

Her stomach knotted at the thought. She hadn't ever flown before, least of all in first class. It was obvious that her husband was rich since he could afford her, and a way to buy her favours was offering her all the comforts one could think about. _Well_ , this applied to every other girl. In her opinion, she could easily fly in the hold – or not fly at all.

They were closing the suitcases when someone knocked on the door and Emma stiffened, her breath caught in her throat. A glance at the clock confirmed that it was already five and a half, it was already time to go, to leave the place that wasn't her home, because it wasn't anything more than a prison even though it was the place where she had met Ruby, her real home.

It was Ruby who opened the door, Emma still had her hand clenched in fists. On the doorstep there was Madame Mills and, behind her, two of her lackeys with shoulders as broad as a gorilla.

Cora's little eyes examined Emma from head to toe and a smile creased her thin lips. «Good, I see you're ready. Come on, the car is waiting for you, do not dawdle.»

A hand squeezed her harm. Looking down, she saw Ruby's red polished nails pressing gently into her skin, shaking her from her stiffness.

As if she was pushed by an invisible force, Emma grabbed the tote she would use as hand luggage with all her documents and the two folders with the all the information about her new life in it. With a suitcase each, Emma and Ruby stepped out in the desert hallway, stopping before the satisfied figure of Madame Mills.

«My dear, dear Emma, you don't know how happy I am that you've been offered this opportunity. May the future hold for you a happy and rosy fate,» she said sincerely, and that surprised Emma a lot. The girl brushed away that feeling and reluctantly accepted the woman's kisses on her cheeks.

Emma and Ruby, hand in hand, followed the two men, twins with a strong southern accent, to the entrance and then outside, where the chaos of New York was the perfect soundtrack for those last hours in a city she hadn't had the occasion to visit due to her partial freedom. A part of her wished she could have a few occasions to visit Dublin, at least that city, but she wouldn't dare give herself false hopes.

The twins loaded Emma's suitcases in the trunk while the two girls settled silently in the black leather Lexus' back seats. They didn't trust speaking in front of Madame's lackeys, everything they heard or saw reached her, and there were things it was better to keep to themselves.

Neither of them was looking at the life flowing outside the tinted windows, too absorbed in their own thoughts to notice anything else while they were heading towards JFK International Airport.

«Take the warm nuts.»

«Uh?» Emma asked, rousing from her thoughts, looking up towards Ruby.

«Warm nuts,» the other replied, forcing a smile, she was trying to keep the situation light for the sake of them both. «You know, it's a cliché, all those who fly first class or on private jets _must_ eat warm nuts.»

Despite everything, Emma smiled. «Rubes, it'll be the first time I ever step on a plane, I don't even know if I'll be able to keep down what I ate today at lunch, I won't think about the meals they'll give me,» she replied with a soft laugh. «I promise you I'll cross this cliché off the list and take those nuts if I won't puke out my guts.»

«Good,» said Ruby, almost satisfied. «I should add some cocktails, but I assume you'd want to arrive sober in Dublin. Of course, being a little tipsy would help you, but I presume you'd want to spare the alcohol for the wedding nig… Ouch!»

With a hiss, Emma had given her a not so light thwack on her leg. She didn't want to think about Dublin, let alone _that_. But Ruby was right, she would _definitely_ need alcohol.

They stayed silent for the rest of the trip, fingers firmly intertwined as if they wouldn't ever want to be separated. Unfortunately, reality had very different plans for them. Although she didn't want – _couldn't_ – allow herself to hope, Emma asked herself if her husband would let her go to New York to visit Ruby if she stayed with Madame or wherever she would be if the same fate awaited her.

It was a possibility, even if slight, that she could see her again in person, without miles or monitors between them.

She was still thinking about that faint hope when the car stopped and she came abruptly back to reality, her legs suddenly weak and her heart pounding with fear. Ruby tugged lightly on her hand, spurring her to follow her out of the car.

No one seemed to notice them, no one knew in what kind of hell they lived, no one would even look at them, except for some men who let their gazes roam over their curves, emphasizing that they were perfect for the kind of life they led.

Lackey One handed out the suitcases to Emma and Ruby took one, she wasn't ready to let her go. Hand in hand, the two entered the crowded airport, Emma's fingers wrapped so tightly around the trolley's handle that her knuckles were white. Every step she took, the distance between herself and the check-in desk narrowed and her breaths became shorter and quicker.

«Calm down, Emma,» Ruby whispered to her squeezing her hand. «Remember what Madame always says, breathe in through your nose and breathe out through your mouth.»

Emma kept herself from rolling her eyes while she followed Ruby's orders, of course she noticed her uneasiness – or maybe it was the sweaty palms that gave her away? – but she knew she was right, neither of them were unused to panic attacks.

Soon, too soon, the four of them stopped before the line for the check-in, a clear sign that Emma had to give the last goodbye to Ruby. Turning towards her, she saw her green eyes full of tears. Forcing herself to smile, Emma hugged Ruby tightly, breathing in her scent of cherries and liquorice she always left behind.

Ruby hugged her back with the same strength as if she was trying to keep her here. Saying goodbye to her at the airport was almost a luxury, even though it was also true that she and Emma were the only ones to have some kind of relationship that exceeded a mere acquaintance.

«I'll miss you so much,» Emma whispered resting her chin on her shoulder. «I'll call you as soon as possible.» _As soon as I'm allowed to_ , this was what she wanted to say, but she knew Ruby would understand.

«Skype and FaceTime will be our friends, hearing your voice won't be enough,» Ruby replied. _I need to see that you're okay, I need to know that he doesn't beat you_ , this was what she really meant, what Emma understood. «Not a day will go by that I won't think about you.»

Emma's heart filled with grief as she nodded. «Me too, me too.»

Pulling away from Emma, Ruby took a chain off her neck, a glass wolf with a hint of red on the inside that shone in the sun hanging from it. It was the only memory Ruby had left from her family, just like Emma's swan necklace. She had never taken it off, as if it was part of her, and Emma understood that it meant taking a piece of Ruby with her.

Without saying a word, Ruby slid the chain over Emma's head, adjusting her hair. The wolf dangled slightly, settling on Emma's cleavage beneath the other necklace.

Biting her lip to keep herself from trembling, Emma unhooked the necklace with the swan and placed it around Ruby's neck. The two completed each other, they were each other's anchor, and maybe it was because they had lived the same experience, but they were both sure that, even if they would not have fallen for Madame Mills' trick, they would have found each other and would have been best friends.

«I love you, Rubes,» Emma murmured pulling her in for a last, long hug.

«I love you, Ems,» Ruby replied trying to impress every detail of her best friend, of her _sister_ , in her mind.

When Lackey Two cleared his throat, _gently_ implying that the time at their disposal had ran out, Emma pulled away from Ruby with a threatening glare. «Don't you dare put your filthy hands on her, because I'll know if you do, and the same applies to Madame, too.»

Lackey Two seemed outraged by that accusation, but it was very well known that some of Madame's men liked to get a little handsy. Thankfully, Madame didn't like that at all.

After shooting an icy glare to Lackey One, Emma pulled out the ticket and the passport from the bag, breathing in deeply trying to stop the shivers that were running down her spine.

She smiled at Ruby one last time, she couldn't handle a last hug, and, grabbing both suitcases, she went to stand in line for the check-in.

Lackey One would escort her inside, waiting for her to board and depart to prevent her from talking to someone. The girls knew better than talk about their situation to strangers that weren't their clients, who had tried wasn't around to throw such accusations anymore.

Not feeling Ruby's eyes on herself anymore, Emma kept herself from crying by biting down hard on her lower lip, cutting it open and tasting blood while inside her chest her heart shattered in tiny shards of ice.


	2. Chapter 2

**First of all, I'm so sorry I couldn't update earlier, but I had exams and then I failed one and I was in a very desperate mood for weeks and I couldn't do anything well.**

 **Second, thank you so much for all the reviews and the following and the views and everything, truly, you don't know what it means for me. I'm glad you're enjoying this story even though it's about a very delicate matter.**

 **A guest pointed out that they didn't like this fic to be set in Drogheda, Colin's hometown, but I don't think it's too much of a problem, it's not like I'm insulting the town, it's just because of its location.**

 **I want to warn you, though: I started this fic more than a year ago, and in this chapter I put Las Vegas as the place where they married - and they didn't, because for everyone else they're already married - and here Emma describes a bit what Las Vegas is, even though she has never been there. Now, with what happened in Las Vegas, I don't mean to be disrepsectful, and I hope you don't read that into the what I said (just something about strippers, casinos, crime, drugs) and I know Las Vegas isn't just that, but this reflects the purpose of the fic: we don't know how something really is until we don't see it ourselves. My heart broke for what happened in Las Vegas, so I hope you don't find me disrespectful towards the city or the victims because I really don't want to be. I do know that Las Vegas is more than just that, but what I wrote served just for the purpose of the fic. If anyone felt insulted, please don't be, I really don't want people to feel that way.**

 **That said, I hope you like the chapter. I won't say when the next will be up because I have to study for three exams and begin my thesis, and that will take away most of my time. I just really hope you'll stay with me.**

 **Thank you, truly.**

Chapter 2

Emma moved again on the seat – okay, _bed_ – on which, theoretically, she should have already been asleep.

She felt tired, or rather, completely exhausted, even after eating the chicken chili soup, a black pepper beef tenderloin and right now she was enjoying a chocolate ice cream with whipped cream and melted chocolate. And, of course, nuts.

On her lap, over the thick blanket a gentle steward gave her, laid open the two manila folders about her husband. Her eyes fell upon her bare ring finger, wondering if she would ever have a real ring. Neither she or Ruby had ever thought much about it, they didn't want to think about the fact that that ring would have been the equivalent of a dog's choker.

She had finished looking at the photos of the house, a mixture of classical and modern elements. The main entrance was at the end of a short driveway closed by a wrought-iron gate, another entrance overlooked onto the immense garden that dropped into a cliff straight into the sea. There was another picture of three garages and a door that led inside the house.

The interiors gave her a sense of peace, and that made her hate them even more, because they were perfect for that house, but she wasn't sure it reflected her husband, he could've simply had asked someone to decorate it, not caring about the style.

She closed the folder with a sigh; the house could have been worse. Jesus, there was even a fireplace under the TV – and she had noticed a PlayStation 4 and an Xbox, too.

There were photos of other rooms, but she didn't want to see more of the house that she should have been discovering by herself, revealing its every little secret. Sticking another hearty spoonful of ice cream in her mouth – probably she would order more, fully aware that she wouldn't be able to sleep and that it was all paid by her husband – she grabbed the other folder, the one with her new documents for the Visa application and some basic information provided to support the story of the marriage.

She put aside the documents with her new name, she didn't want to think about who really was her husband when all she wanted was getting an idea of his personality instead. She wanted to paint in her mind only to disintegrate that image so that she wouldn't remain disappointed when she met him.

 _Date of birth: March 11_ _th_ _._

Emma rolled her eyes, he _obviously_ didn't write the year. She wondered if his name could have been Patrick, since he was born so close to Ireland's saint patron's name-day. Then Patrick, the starfish prom _SpongeBob_ , came to her mind and she almost laughed.

 _Height: 1,80m._

She arched one eyebrow, savouring another spoonful of ice cream. So, he was definitely higher than her, but it didn't mean he was fit, maybe he was a hog with a triple chin. She swallowed the ice cream, stopping that thought before it was too late.

 _Distinguishing marks: two tattoos. No description necessary._

Okay, that was strange. Usually husbands didn't answer this coldly to the questions, some would have shown themselves off, others, in this case, would have lavished on an accurate description of their tattoos – or so she had heard from the other girls. It seemed strange to her that this man was so secretive about himself.

 _Allergies: Brussel sprouts._

Emma almost burst out laughing.

Since she was little she had always had a particular talent for understanding when someone was lying, and sometimes this power of her worked even on written information. While it was impossible to have a clear image of him, the cold personality of her husband had been dented, even if slightly, by that childish behaviour. Despite herself, Emma smiled.

 _Favourite dish: Irish Coffee cake._

 _Big baby_ , Emma thought concealing a smile. She knew that the man he was describing wasn't her husband, that was just a personal wish that she would later smash to prevent herself from hoping in something too perfect to be real.

 _Least favourite dish: liver_.

 _Point for him, it_ is _disgusting_ , Emma agreed wrinkling her nose while munching a nut.

 _Pets: none_.

She sighed, it was such a pity, but maybe, in the future… _No_ , if he didn't have one before, it was impossible that he would want one in the future.

 _Favourite writer: Edgar Allan Poe._

She arched a brow. _Interesting_ , she commented, skeptical. Poe was a genius, of course, but he was dark, and… completely in contrast with the "big baby" she thought he was before, but perfectly fitting the coldness he was showing.

She almost felt stupid, it was a bit rich coming from her, her who loved Victor Hugo. Between the two of them, she didn't know who had it worse.

 _Favourite singer/group: Queen._

Well, at least he had good taste in music. That was important. Emma didn't trust anyone besides Ruby, but she was weary of those who didn't have good taste in music and those who didn't love pets.

 _Favourite show: Game of Thrones._

She gulped down another spoonful of ice cream. Alright, it wasn't that bad, but if he was so influenced by Poe he could simply like the fact that they all died. She shook her head, that increased the fanboy level _and_ the creepy level.

 _Favourite movie: The Crow._

Emma's eyebrows shot up. _This_ was strange. That is, although a masterpiece, _The Crow_ definitely increased the creepy level. It was a story about revenge, visceral and… She shook her head; the creepy level had just gone sky-high.

 _Sport: swimming and running, not competitive._

Uhm, true, she should have guessed after she saw the indoor swimming-pool and the gym, but the first one could have only been used for pool parties while the second just for show. Was there really the chance that her husband wasn't old, decrepit and fatty but at least fit?

Adjusting the blanket over herself, Emma started to believe that the image she had made of her husband wasn't too wrong. In her mind, he couldn't have been more than fifty years old, but she couldn't absolutely allow herself to think that he was younger, rarely the girls had the fortune of ending with someone young, especially those who were going to be sold as wives. In fact, it was unusual that the buyers were young and slim and good looking; why would they need a wife they weren't in love with? Unless they were rich but as ugly as sin. In that case, there was a chance, although it was rare.

The rest of the questions had been left blank, as if he didn't care or he got bored filing the questionnaire.

Emma furrowed her brows, turning the page and finding only another question answered, the one she feared the most, the one about their story.

Breathing in deeply, she put the ice cream on the table and dried her fingers wet from condensation on the blanket. With trembling hands, she started to read.

 _Relationship development: we met at a party in Las Vegas at which we were both invited. We talked, we started knowing each other better, and then we didn't leave my hotel room for five days straight._

 _We married on the eve of my departure and then you went back to New York to tie up loose ends about your job. Then you joined me in Paris for our honeymoon._

 _You then had to go back home because something unexpected came up, so no one will ask questions about the reason you haven't come to Ireland yet._

With an almost inhuman movement, Emma closed the folder and pulled the blanket aside, running as fast as she could to the nearest toilet so she could throw up not only her dinner, but even the indignation that had gripped her stomach.

* * *

They had even brought her an herbal tea – they had probably thought she was pregnant even though she had repeatedly said that it was the first time she was flying.

Now she was sipping warm milk with chocolate, nothing remotely comparable to a hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon, but she didn't have the strength to tolerate the stewards' attentions anymore.

She was curled up on the seat, knees clutched to her chest and hot tears streaming down her cheeks. After her first fit of tears she had decided not to put on any more make-up, her tears had overcome the power of waterproof make-up and her face seemed a mask worthy of a horror movie.

Not only she'd been _bought_ , she had practically been _humiliated_. She had already been robbed of a normal life, with a normal wedding ceremony and a _real_ honeymoon, but now she was destined to be the portrait of the stupid girl who left everything for a man and flew to the other side of the world after just _five days_ into a relationship.

Another fit of sobs broke through her at the thought that she didn't even had the stupid, disgusting and fast ceremony in a microscopic chapel officiated by a shabby copy of Elvis. And not even half a day of honeymoon. Just a fake one. In Paris.

She couldn't even get in touch with Ruby, she couldn't hug her and pretend that that was just a nightmare.

She squeezed the wolf tightly between her fingers, as if it was some sort of magic amulet tied to Ruby, capable of letting her feel her anguish, her pain and the deep desire to come home. Or rather, to come back to her, because Ruby was home.

During the night, she entered and exited a light sleep filled with nightmares. They went from pseudo memories from when she was little and was abandoned every single time to those in which she was sold like a prostitute and her clients dragged her into a wedding in Las Vegas and made her a trophy wife, but whenever she tried to look at him, his face was just a smooth expanse of skin.

A hand shook her from her last restless dream that saw her in the wrinkled hands of a sixty-years-old man. She opened her eyes, noticing, thanks to the lifted blinds of the windows all around her, that there was a grey light seeping in.

«I'm sorry,» said the flight assistant with an apologetic smile, «we're serving breakfast, do you want anything, Miss?»

The question hidden by those words seemed to be "do you have any pregnancy cravings?". Emma bit her lower lip. «Just some more milk and chocolate, thank you,» she said cracking half a smile. She wouldn't be able to eat more, even if she had hoped in a plate full of pancakes with melted chocolate, whipped cream and strawberries just the night before. Only, the night before she didn't know what kind of vile being her new husband was.

The flight assistant didn't say anything and just nodded, leaving her alone. She cuddled up even more, wrapping her arms around her knees and putting the headphones in her ears, the music loud in the desperate attempt to erase the last remnant of her nightmare.

She was sipping a new cup of scorching hot milk and chocolate when she heard that they would soon land from the speakers and her stomach clamped down in a vise of anxiety and repugnance. She gulped down the milk in a few swigs and sat upright, fastening her seatbelt and keeping listening to the music, at least that way she would keep herself distracted. Or so she hoped.

The landing went smoothly, but her stomach was still in knots. With a sigh, Emma arranged the crinkled documents, now so wet with her tears that most of the words had become illegible, she took off the earphones without detaching them from the phone and put it in the pocket of her long dark blue Burberry coat.

It was nothing new for her to wear branded clothes, even her lingerie was branded, for heaven's sake, but every time she wore something, it looked like she was even more like an object, a doll in the hands of others and always dressed in the latest fashion. If being treated like that by Madame already made her feel dirty, being used by a man who had bought her was even more disgusting.

Even though she was wearing branded clothes she had done nothing to earn any of that, nor she had a job. She didn't even know how to work, she hadn't any references, she had finished high school like all the other girls, but if she were to be left alone on a sidewalk – again – she wouldn't know what to do with her life.

She was one of the last to get off the plane, and, with a sigh, Emma followed the indications – at least she didn't end up in Germany or in Africa or in Mexico. Or in Cuba, and she was sure Madame Mills had contacts even there.

Indignation rushed back while she was waiting for her luggage. At least she had suppressed the nausea, for now. She didn't know what awaited her and now her knees even started to buckle. Luckily for her, she hadn't had a panic attack yet, no, she would save one for when she would find out the actual conditions of her new situation.

She breathed in deeply, grabbing the two suitcases ad heading towards customs, wondering, in a recondite part of her mind, how she had been able to get through the airport security with the microchip under her skin. She shook her head; soon she would remove it, unless her husband had a high sense of control and would leave it, after all he would put a choker on her finger anyway.

She almost laughed – bitterly – at the thought that maybe he would just foist a simple rhinestone ring and a fake gold-plated copper wedding band on her finger.

Banishing those dark thoughts, Emma went through airport security without a problem, enduring lecherous stares from the security guards. She kept herself from looking totally disgusted by keeping a neutral and stoic expression. Leaving behind those lustful stares that still followed her until she didn't disappear from their view, she headed, along with other passengers, towards the exit where relatives, friends and… a man completely dressed in black with a sign that said "Emma Swan" waited.

She still had the chance to run. She could run from her destiny, have the chip removed by someone and sell all those branded clothes and jewels.

«Ah, you must be Miss Swan,» the man called loudly, making her wince. He had a strong English accent, but he didn't seem a driver at all, he didn't look like any of Madame's lackeys, rather, he looked more like a slacker who was only missing a beer in his hand and a television with a soccer game on.

 _Too late, idiot_ , she told herself sighing sorrowfully, it was _obvious_ that even the driver knew how she looked like. «Hello,» she said biting the inside of her cheek. She didn't know how to act, it seemed that he didn't know she was his boss' wife. He _surely_ had no idea, he probably thought she was another flirt, another girl that joined her husband for a week – or a month, or how much time he usually spent with women – of pure pleasure.

Offering her a crooked smile, the driver put the sign under his arm and offered her his hand. «Will Scarlet at your service, Miss.»

He _definitely_ had no idea who she was. Emma narrowed her eyes, peering attentively at him before shaking his hand. «Emma Swan, even though… you already know that,» she said burrowing her eyebrows slightly, feeling the blood flow to her cheeks and making them incandescent.

«I do, but I had to coax some word out of your mouth other than a greeting,» he chuckled, bending to grab one of the two suitcases. «This way, if you please.»

Despite herself, Emma smiled; Will seemed nice. «Uh, thanks,» she said following the man outside the airport.

Although she was prepared for a landscape completely different from New York's, once she exited the automatic doors and left the warmth of the heat, the sight that welcomed her made her jaw drop to the floor. Even if the sun was clouded, the carpets of grass all around her were so _green_ that almost made her want to run out there until she was breathless.

She had visited Central Park only a couple of times, but it wasn't comparable at all to what she was seeing in that moment.

«This is nothing,» Will snickered, standing beside her while he leaded her towards a shiny black Audi A8. She knew he was talking about the landscape, but his phrase could also include the car.

 _Good_ , Emma thought, _it seems he has an affinity with luxury cars_. «Good, then don't be surprised if I'll spend the whole trip with my nose pressed against the window,» she joked, feeling the knot in her stomach loosen slightly.

She helped Will loading the suitcases in the trunk and then she sat in the backseat, noticing his puzzled stare. Clearly, he was expecting her to sit in the passenger seat. Will shrugged his shoulders, getting into the driver's seat, starting the engine of that panther that trembled slightly and purred as if she had just been tamed.

Even if Emma hated the luxury she was forced to bear, she had a weakness for fast cars, they gave her a sense of freedom, the same freedom she had never had and she would never experience. During all those years at Madame's she had desired, every single moment, to take, along with Ruby, one of the cars in the underground garage and speed over 100 mph until they reached a place where they would be free from Madame's domain.

«I bet you don't see this kind of landscapes where you are from,» Will said manoeuvring the car and getting on the road.

«And you would win the bet,» Emma confirmed, leaning completely against the door, her nose just a few inch from the window. She had expected the silent treatment, but instead talking to Will was pretty easy, maybe because he was down-to-earth and very friendly.

«That would be a first,» she heard him mumble to himself, but she was too focused on the landscape to care about what he was saying.

There was so much _green_ , almost endless green plains, occasionally studded by white dots that later she understood were sheep. She would have liked to see the fields kissed by the sun rather than under that greyness, even though she would surely see them since she would stay there for the rest of her life.

Sure, she could have worm some information out of Will's mouth, he definitely seemed the kind of man that, with a couple too many drinks under his belt, was able to share every dirty little secret of his boss. In that moment, though, she didn't care. She wanted to enjoy the landscape, the sense of freedom it gave her although she wasn't free at all.

It was different from when she was in New York, now freedom seemed something even more closer, even though she didn't dare to hope, she knew she couldn't, yet her heart was slowly filling with that unfamiliar feeling she felt every time she hugged Ruby.

She shook her head, forcefully pushing away that feeling, she couldn't allow herself to feel that way, by the time she would reach the house she would enter her new prison from whence she would leave only at the arm of her husband.

She breathed in deeply, holding back the sense of panic, failing miserably when it came to her mind that even Will knew – or _might_ know – that they married after five days. In Las Vegas. And spent their honeymoon in Paris. Things they didn't actually do.

«You must be used to skyscrapers since you're looking so enthusiastically at the landscape,» Will observed.

She shrugged her shoulders, trying to smile a little bit. «Oh, well, since the only green area in New York is Central Park, it's not hard for all of this to top it.»

Will chuckled. «You'll like it here, Miss, if it's the green that you want.»

«Uh,» Emma wavered nibbling at her lower lip, «you can call me Emma, if you want. I, uhm, don't mind.» _In the end we are both employees, even if, theoretically, I'll be your boss._

He seemed surprised, but collected himself quickly. «Alright, Miss… Lass… Emma.»

Emma chuckled slightly, bringing her hand to her mouth to hide her smile. «It's alright,» she said shaking her head. «Were you, uh, born here?»

«Ah, no, I was born in London, emigrated in these desolated lands at the young age of eight. Have you always been in New York?»

She stiffened for a moment, asking herself what her husband had told about her. «Uh, no, but I lived there for most part of my life.» She sighed in relief to herself; that wasn't a lie, after all, and she _had_ lived segregated in Madame's villa since she was thirteen years old.

«And what is it like Las Vegas? Didn't you guys marry there, after all?»

 _Jesus fucking Christ_ , Emma cursed in her mind, curling her hands into fists to the point that her nails dug into her palms. «Ah, ehm, very… noisy. Just like they show you on _CSI_ , full of crime, sex, alcohol, drugs… As for casinos, be careful, or they'll bleed you dry.» She narrowed her eyes, playing her cards like a pro. «Even though I believe you want to know more about the strippers, don't you?»

Will arched his brows, feigning a shocked expression. «Who, me? What did you take me for?» he said melodramatically. «So, are they truly that good and wild?»

Emma burst out laughing. «Hey, I'm not interested in that!» she giggled, feeling her cheeks hurt from all the laughing.

«Ah, bummer,» Will said faking a desolate sigh. «And don't you know any stripper? I mean, I don't think you know one, I absolutely don't think that, I would never dare, I…»

Despite everything, Emma laughed. «Oh, don't worry,» she said drying the tears at the corners of her eyes, «unfortunately for you, I don't know any.»

With a sigh, Will shrugged his shoulders. «What a pity, my dear, and here I hoped to easily find a wife,» he said snapping his fingers, and Emma froze, stiffening so much that she felt the muscles in her back hurt.

«Ah, uhm, it's not that even if they do that kind of job they would marry the first one that comes along,» she replied through her teeth, maybe more bitterly than she thought.

Will looked at her in the rearview mirror, astonished, but she shifted her gaze out of the window, arms crossed to her chest as if they were an armor. _Here's what you get when you open up with the first one who seems friendly_. Everyone, in the end, wanted only one thing.

He must have sensed her discomfort because he gave her an apology smile. «Forgive me, lass, I didn't want to be that rude,» he muttered, clearly more annoyed with himself than with her.

Emma forced herself to smile, but it came out a grimace. «It doesn't matter,» she lied stiffly, pressing her lips into a thin line.

They remained in silence while in the background the radio kept playing songs that Emma hadn't ever heard. In most cases, whenever they played songs by some boy-band or artist in her opinion not talented at all, Emma just changed station, but they were mostly American songs.

She was playing with the wolf hanging from her neck when they drove across a little town apparently very welcoming. Looking outside the window, she saw several shops, mostly souvenirs, but she noticed also bakeries, pastry shops, restaurants, flower shops; yet, it was completely different from New York. Here, everything was slower, it gave people time to enjoy the landscape and the fresh air, unlike the hectic rhythm that hurried New Yorkers' steps and the smog that filled the air.

«We're almost there,» Will announced, tearing her from her daydream.

Emma mumbled in approval, sinking further into the leather backseat. It was comfortable, and it smelled of spices and… rum? She frowned, wondering which was the scent that stood out more; she had an extensive knowledge of alcohol, after all, and that seemed rum. Sure, she wouldn't have been able to recognize the year or its provenance, but Ruby would've probably been successful, she was an expert in wines and liquors, even though her speciality were perfumes, she could distinguish a discount perfume from a Chanel n° 5.

Maybe her husband had spilled some rum on the seats – probably the whole bottle, even though it wasn't as unpleasant as someone could've imagined. It was even… _comfortable_. She shook her head, she couldn't seriously think that.

She pulled out her phone from her purse, contemplating nostalgically the homescreen, a photo of her and Ruby the day of her eighteenth birthday after a night spent in drinking alcohol and eating a red velvet cake that Ruby had baked for her.

 _I'm almost there XO,_ she typed, knowing that Madame would check Ruby's texts. Over the years they had came up with a way to communicate in code, innocent sentences to ask for help or joke, and she knew that soon she should have to dust that old vocabulary off to safely communicate with her.

It was when she looked up from the phone that she saw the house. She blinked repeatedly, lips parted in an expression of complete awe. Saying that it was huge was a euphemism. _That's why the photos showed_ only _some of the rooms and not a full overview of the house_.

The house was totally white, ivy covering various spots in a completely random pattern, lawns and trees all around, conferring it an air of mystery and magic that left her surprised, enraptured as if fairies were singing a spell into her ear, propped on her shoulder. And she was loving every moment of it.

She asked herself how the view of the sea at sunset, or the night with the full moon would be; it was something she had never had in New York. And the stars, maybe she would've been able to see the stars, too.

Will drove around the house, heading towards an automatic gate that opened after he pushed a button on a remote control, opening her the gates on that enchanted world.

 _Gates of hell, Emma,_ hell _,_ she rebuked herself, shaking her head as if she wanted to shake off of herself that sense of seduction that merely the house left on her. _Last thing I need is the landlord to be a fairy creature_.

«Ah, Neverland House has already done her magic?»

«Yeah,» she whispered in awe, before shaking her head. «Neverland House? I thought they gave houses a name only in erotic novels set in the early 19th century in England.»

Will burst out laughing while parking the car in front of three closed garages. «Don't let him hear you, Neverland House is named so because of his mother.»

Emma furrowed her brows, surely he was referring to her husband's mother, even though she couldn't understand why.

Suddenly, as she was reaching out her hand to open the door, she felt her legs become jelly; if she had tried to stand, she would've fallen on the ground. She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply and breathing out through her mouth, the rhythmic beat of her heart filled her ears, preventing her to hear Will's voice.

Hungry for air, Emma opened the door, inhaling greedily the fresh air of the Irish morning. She closed her eyes, a kaleidoscope of colours sparkled behind her eyelids as she tried to calm down.

«Jet-lag?» Will asked, stepping before the door, his gaze slightly concerned. _At least he doesn't think I'm pregnant_ , she thought bitterly.

Emma nodded slowly, opening her eyes and stepping out of the car, her jelly legs still weak but strong under her. «Yeah, right now all I want is to throw myself on the bed and sleep for days.»

Will sneered as he unloaded the luggage from the trunk. «I doubt you'll sleep,» he observed with a wink.

Looking baffled at him, Emma had to wait a whole minute before understanding the real meaning behind that sentence. «Ah. Oh, uhm, no, not gonna happen, I'm going to sleep.»

He sneered. «Good, you tell him, lass. He needs a lass like you.»

Emma arched her brow, following him inside the door next to the garages and asking herself what he had meant with that phrase. It was possible that her husband was younger than she'd imagined. Will talked about him as if they were even… _friends_.

«Well,» she said, feeling bold, after all she'd been bought even for her abilities as an actress, «I still made a honest man out of him.» She added a wink, trying to hide her left hand in the coat's pocket so he wouldn't see the lack of rings, even though she was certain he already did.

«That left all of us surprised, I must be honest,» Will said, preceding her along a long hallway that seemed to join the garage to the house. «None of us thought that he would ever marry after…» He stopped suddenly before the entrance of a circular room with two hallways, one to the left and one to the right, and a staircase that run up along the wall like a spiral. «You know what? It's best that I leave you two alone; I wouldn't like to, uh, make the fact that you'll surely jump each other the moment you make eye contact awkward.»

 _Yeah, it'll surely be the first thing I'll want to do_ , Emma thought bitterly. She shook herself shaking her head under his amused gaze; he was probably certain she was thinking only about fucking her husband on every surface of the house. She forced a smile. «Thank you, Will, you've been very kind; I'm sorry that you had to drive all the way to the airport and back and put up with me.»

«Trust me, Emma, better you than him.» He grabbed her right hand and laid a kiss on the back. «See you soon, Emma.»

«Bye,» she said with the most sincere smile she could find inside the anxiety catacomb she was immersed in. She could've escaped… but she didn't have money, besides, she was almost sure that Madame was carefully following her movements.

Grabbing the handles of the suitcases as Will exited the house, Emma breathed in deeply and climbed up the stairs, the beat of her heart and the echo of her steps were the only soundtrack during her slow ascension to hell.

Once she had reached the stair top, she crossed a marble arch doorway, finding herself in front of a beige wall with an enormous gold-framed mirror that hang from it. Under the mirror there was what appeared to be a fireplace filled with unlighted candles. On her right there was a window with long floral curtains and an armchair, two lamps on both of its sides. Alongside that short hallway there was an old cabinet with some photos on it that she didn't stop to look at, while on her left there was a door that probably led to the garden.

Hesitantly, Emma went down the hallway and turned left, crossing another archway that led her to what should be the main entrance where she found more old pieces of furniture. Hanging from the ceiling, a single, huge, crystal chandelier completed the décor.

Stopping at the center of the wide room, she noticed more archways opening on other rooms and another stairway similar to the one she'd just emerged from. Both had the same wrought-iron railway and a wooden handrail. Emma placed the suitcases at her sides as if they were an armor, a shield against whoever her husband turned out to be.

Picking up her courage, Emma said loudly enough for him to hear if he was nearby: «Hello? Is anybody there?»

Her voice echoed through the empty rooms, and a feeling of desolation added to the sense of fear. _A nice golden cage for a little, lonely bird_ , she thought sorrowful, tightening her grip on the handle of a suitcase.

In the absolute silence that surrounded her, as the blue and gold varnished pendulum clock ticked the time away, Emma heard footsteps approaching, echoing the frantic beating of her heart.

She looked up and her knees almost gave up under her. Not because of anxiety, not because her legs had practically turned into jelly, and not even because of the jet-lag.

«Oh, you're here,» said a voice with a British accent from the top of the stairs, voice that reverberated through her bones, shaking her to her core.

Emma couldn't believe her eyes. All the alarm bells started to ring in her head because that _couldn't_ be her husband, it was simply impossible, it was… _No_ , all of Madame's clients, all of those who wanted a wife were old, fat and probably even impotent.

He couldn't be _him_. Maybe he was the son. Maybe… maybe he was the most beautiful man that Emma had ever seen on earth.

The man reached her, almost towering over her and, hadn't it been for the fact that she was still hanging on to the suitcase, her legs would've probably gave out.

However, as much as she had hoped in a little bit more warming welcoming, what she saw on the man's face – _guy, for goodness' sake, Emma!_ – was pure indifference and, strangely enough, she couldn't stop her heart to skip some painful beats.

«Emma Swan,» she said hesitantly in a whisper, holding out her slightly trembling hand for him to shake.

Lowering his gaze on her hand, he arched a brow skeptically before shaking his head slightly, as if he was disappointed by her gesture. «Killian Jones, love, and I believe it's time for you to get used to using "Emma _Jones_ " when you introduce yourself.» That said, he took the two suitcases, almost ripping them out of her hands, turned his back on her and went back up the stairs without looking back.

Realizing that he wouldn't tell her anything else, Emma followed him, aware that "Emma Jones" wouldn't just be her new name. No, that name would also be her worst nightmare.


	3. Chapter 3

**Woah, an update! Yup! Today I had one of my exams and, since I actually started translating this chapter around Christmas, I decided to finish it today before focusing on my other exam.**

 **I'll be quick because it's almost 3am here, so: no, I won't be posting it on Italian sites, I know them and they are not what they used to be. A guest complained that I used Drogheda just because it was Colin's hometown. I did and I did not: I wanted them to be out of the US, and I've always loved Ireland, this story just** ** _belongs_** **there.**

 **An anon on tumblr said my story shouldn't be read at all. I respect people's choice, they can decide not to read my fic, but at least be civil. I don't ask much, just don't come into my asks and tell me that Emma will surely suffer from Stockholm syndrome - she won't, because she still is the Emma Swan we know and love, but she has to learn how to be free, how to feel, something she has not done in nearly ten years. She had Ruby, and that helped her, but it's not enough. This person also assumed the matter of the human trafficking wouldn't be addressed. Well, I didn't know this person knew how my fic would go on! Woah, maybe we do have a mind reader amongst us! Is that you, Edward? Sookie? So, yeah, all I ask is respect and not to come to me - especially as anons - to bitch about my fic, which I didn't force you to read, claiming to know what I'm doing with the characters and with the plot.**

 **But enough about this and on with the chapter! I edited the last paragraph, it wasn't in the original draft and I'm not really okay with it, but I still hope you like it. I apologize for my mistakes, since this is unbeta'd. Thank you for all the reviews, favourites, followers, kudos, comments etc.**

 **On my tumblr (morgenstern-cullen) you'll find photos of Emma's bedroom, her bathroom and the kitchen.**

 **This said, I really don't know when chapter 4 will be up because it should be the first one to be, like 10k words long and, hopefully, I'll have to focus on my thesis. So I hope this chapter will be of your liking. Again, thank you and love you all!**

Chapter 3

Emma didn't even have the time to admire very room of the house, just glimpses through doors left ajar, brief gazes and rapid steps to keep up with Killian.

When she'd seen him, dressed completely in black, from the jeans that wrapped around his toned legs to the cotton sweater that, unfortunately for her, didn't leave anything to imagination, she'd been shocked to say the least.

 _A man like him can't have any problems in finding himself a wife. A man like him… okay, with that attitude he'd definitely have some problems, but…_

But, with those ocean-blue eyes cold as a glacier, he should've had a swarm of women following him around. And oh, that face of him, with those sharp features, those cheeks covered in dark red stubble, long enough to leave light red marks on her neck, on her breasts, in between her thighs…

Emma shook her head, banishing that thought; that probably would never happen, not with that wall of ice that surrounded him.

And that hair, God, that hair almost indecently in contrast with his pale pink skin, so well-groomed she would've given anything to comb her fingers through it, even just once.

 _Enough, Emma_ , she strongly scolded herself, shaking that hormonal teenage desire off herself.

«Did you have a good flight?»

His voice was like a bucket of cold water, not exactly indifferent, but, rather, detached, as if he actually didn't care. Probably, he didn't.

«Uhm, yeah,» she lied easily, and he suddenly stopped in the middle of the hallway. He turned to look at her and Emma couldn't handle his inquiring gaze, feeling obliged to lower it on the white marble of the floor.

«Don't lie to me, love, the bags under your eyes are a point in your disfavour,» Killian replied almost mockingly.

 _What should I say? That your version of how we met made me sick all the flight long and all the others thought I was pregnant? Not to mention the fact that, well, I've been sold, asshole._

«Mhm,» he mumbled, keeping looking piercingly at her; Emma felt as if the walls she'd built all around her were on the verge of crumbling down. «Apologies, I can only imagine how you feel.»

Those words seemed to forcedly come out of his lips, but at least it was something, and for Emma that was enough, at least he seemed to acknowledge that she was pretty shaken up. She didn't say anything, hunching her shoulders and following when, not having received a reply, he resumed walking.

He stopped before another white closed door, and Emma asked herself why that room, she'd seen definitely fantastic ones, but maybe it was because that room was the closest to his own. Once again, she asked herself why she didn't sleep _with_ him.

«This will be your room, I hope it'll be of your liking. You can put away your clothes in the walk-in closet, but I've bought you some for special occasions.»

There, _that_ was something Emma should've known. «What special occasions are you talking about?» He _definitely_ didn't mean nights of crazy sex.

For the first time, Killian looked at her, confused, tilting his head, and he even seemed human. «I thought you would've understood who I am, I thought you girls knew who the most eligible bachelors of the entire world were.»

That was like a open-handed slap on her face, so much painful that Emma winced. «We are not bound to know anything,» she hissed, the lines of her face hardened at his accusation, implying more things than he intended to.

Killian had the common sense to lower his head, defeated, regretting the words he'd said to her. He seemed, if not understanding, then at least struggling to understand how she felt. «Then allow me to inform you: I'm a renowned artist, I mostly focus on painting on canvas, but I can work with every tool and master every technique. My paintings are exposed in galleries all over the world and I'm invited to many events. I think it's only fair my wife should come with me, that's why I've bought you those clothes.»

 _Trophy wife_ echoed in her mind as she absorbed all the information. Distantly in her mind, though, a faint alarm was ringing, meaning that he wasn't exactly lying to her, but his last sentence wasn't completely honest.

«I understand,» she answered after a few moments, her gaze low as he slowly nodded and opened the door.

«I think it's better you rest a bit, I wouldn't want you to faint because of tiredness,» he tried to joke and lift her mood, but Emma only felt tired, at this point she would've accepted a blanket and a pillow and gone to sleep on the floor.

Nonetheless, Emma hesitated. «Uhm, should I set an arlam?» She'd never been wed before and her life had always been an aggregate of rules, thinking about simply sleeping whenever she wanted was a utopia.

Killian seemed confused. He frowned. «No, no, absolutely not, you can sleep how long you desire,» he replied, goggling at her. «Now go, we'll talk when you wake up.» He gave her an authentic smile with a hint of shyness in it she'd never attribute to him, and he seemed even more beautiful.

Slightly lifting the corners of her mouth, Emma nodded. «Thank you,» she whispered sheepishly, grabbing the handles of the suitcases and entering the room. She gasped, astonished as she took in every detail.

The walls were beige with white wood geometric overlays completely in harmony with the house. The floor had been covered with a soft moquette that she knew she would love to feel beneath her bare feet. Beside the door there was an embellished mahogany dresser with a vase of flowers on it and, hanging from the wall upon it, there was a huge gold-framed mirror. At the center of the opposite wall, flanked by other two dressers, there was a double bed covered with a thick comforter and lots of soft pillows. Behind the dresser, each with an abat-jour on them, there were two windows with long curtains. On the left, instead, the wall opened onto a small sitting room where she saw a white armchair and a white coffee table, a window behind the armchair and one on the side, looking out onto the sea.

From the ceiling, a beige ceiling coffer with wooden beams tracing a rectangle, hung a circular chandelier, but more light came from the lamps at the sides of the dressers. There also were a fan ceiling lamp and two tall lamps in the sitting room.

On the right, instead, there were two doors, one surely leading to the walk-in closet, the other, probably, to the bathroom. However, she didn't want to wash away the filth the flight had left on her, she only wanted to get into bed; she could even hear it call to her.

She turned to thank Killian once again, but he'd already left. Frowning at the absurdity of the situation, Emma shut the door behind her and sat on the bed, sinking into it. She slid out of her boots and socks, feeling the moquette under her skin, a light sense of tickle between her toes made her chuckle.

She opened one of the two suitcases, the one she'd put the thickest pyjamas in – after all, it was winter, and Ireland didn't kid about the freezing weather. After having changed into the flannel pyjamas, Emma pulled the comforter aside and got into bed.

Every bone of her body ached on that soft bed she wasn't used to. She hugged the pillow, resting on her stomach, and falling asleep with the hope that it was all a bad dream and that she would wake up soon.

* * *

She awoke when it was almost dark outside; no sun behind the dark clouds although she could easily say that it hadn't set yet.

Slowly, rolling around in the bed, she stretched out, feeling every bone crack. _Amazing, I'm old_ , she thought ironically as she basked in the warmth of the bed.

She still remembered the winters spent with light, ruined pyjamas and worn out kersey blankets, laying on a bed too short for her and with no mattress under her, just hard and cold wood against her skin. She repressed the shiver, slipping even more beneath the blankets.

Emma knew she should've gotten up but she didn't want to see her husband. Besides, the house was an actual labyrinth and she would probably get lost with no map at hand.

Stretching once more, she got up from the bed, loving the feeling of the moquette beneath her feet. She neared the end of the bed where she'd left the open suitcase. Fortunately, it was the one with the beauty-case in it, so she wouldn't have had to search the other one and leave a mess all around the room.

Grabbing the beauty-case and a change of underwear, she went for the door on the right. At most, she would find herself covered with taffeta and velvet, experience she didn't want to have at the moment.

Fortunately, she'd chosen the right door. The walls were still beige but the floor had become tiled. The bathroom was spacious, definitely bigger than the one she used to share with Ruby. At the thought of her best friend, Emma clutched the beauty-case to her chest, nostalgically.

Along the side walls ran two rows of white furniture, cabinets and drawers of different dimensions and mirrors; on the marbles, there were even rolled towels of different sizes. In front of her, instead, on the left there was a shower delimited by a low wall and glass while on the right corner stood a bathtub that immediately stole her heart.

Unfortunately, though, she didn't have the time to take a bath, so she placed the beauty-case on the edge of the tub alongside with the underwear and opened it, pulling out the shampoo and the vanilla-scented bubble bath. After she'd undressed, she entered the shower and turned on the hot water, feeling better almost instantaneously.

Leaning against the tiled wall, Emma closed her eyes and tried to relax, allowing herself not to think about anything, just about the warmth of the water that was washing away her tiredness.

She quietly washed her hair, remembering how many times Ruby had pressured her because they were late, only because _she_ was the one who took her time.

The scent of vanilla filled the room. Maybe she'd exaggerated, but she wanted to cover up the aseptic smell the plane she'd travelled on. She accurately rubbed every inch of her body with vigour, letting her skin redden under the sponge: she also wanted to wash away that feeling of dirtiness she knew it wouldn't disappear easily.

Once she was convinced she'd done a good job, Emma shut the water off. She wrapped a towel around her body, taking another one to dry her hair, wrapping it around her head like a turban.

Steam lingered in the bathroom, fogging up mirrors and windows. Emma opened the window, a gust of salty wind caressed her face, bewitching her like a siren's call.

After having dried her body up, Emma put on the clean underwear and went back to her room, her hair still damp while she grabbed opened the other suitcase to pull out some clean clothes. She didn't know how he wanted her to dress, and hoped he would be understanding and that he wouldn't be violent with her.

She gulped. Those were the worst.

Emma hadn't seen malice in Killian Jones' eyes, not that he had given her a reason to, but she didn't doubt he could become dangerous had he desired it. Besides, he could have been a good actor. She put on a dash of make-up, nothing too excessive, but still not as au naturel as she was when she'd arrived that morning.

She slipped on the soft slippers she found at the foot of the bed and got out of the room, not ready to lose herself in that maze of rooms, not at all.

Not having any information about where she should've met him and with no personal maid – she doubted there was any staff, especially after meeting Will – she preferred wandering around what would be her new house on her own.

She came across different living rooms, a few bedrooms and even some bathrooms. That must be the residential part of the house, finely furnished, and she wondered what was the ultimate goal of so many rooms.

 _He surely doesn't want children_ , she thought bitterly, surprised of her own thought, she had not even spent five minutes with him. Her sixth sense, though, was telling her that he wasn't crazy about that idea.

After an infinite amount of time, as outside it was getting darker, Emma reached the spiral staircase, hoping it was the one she'd climbed before, and descended it, reaching the foyer. In the background she heard music, something she didn't know but that led her through the rooms toward the kitchen.

The room was bright, with small rounded chandeliers mounted in the ceiling, white furniture covering almost completely three walls, hosting a huge steel fridge, a stove and a peninsula with three stools. Against the wall on her left, instead, there was a table decorated with a flower centrepiece and with a bench and other chairs on the sides.

At the stove, as icing on the cake, stood Killian, focused on stirring something in a pan. He was the portrait of mundanity dressed in simple dark grey sweatpants and a blue t-shirt. As a touch of class, he had a dishcloth draped over his shoulder.

«You are early, I thought you would stay in the shower for another hour or so.»

His voice made her wince, also because he had not turned around, on the contrary, he calmly kept cooking.

When the meaning of his words sunk in, though, she understood her privacy had been violated. She opened her mouth to reply, but she immediately closed it because she didn't have the courage to get mad. After all, she'd been taught to endure, not to protest.

As if sensing her internal conflict, Killian turned around – big, huge mistake from his behalf, putting Emma's sanity in danger since that t-shirt highlighted his eyes and outlined his perfect chest.

«I haven't… I have not put hidden cameras in you room,» he added in a rush, blushing, «it's just that I came to see if you were awake and I heard the water running.»

Emma titled her head on the side, confused by how Killian had changed in so little time. Even though he seemed a bit more tolerable, she still saw the stiffness in his shoulders and in his attitude.

«I prepared the sauce for the pasta, I hope you don't mind.»

At that statement, Emma frowned, perplexed. «I thought… I thought you had someone doing it for you or that… I had to do it.»

Killian looked at her, amazed, or baffled, more likely. «No, no,» he said agitatedly, running a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. «Bloody hell.»

«Look, it's okay, you know? After all, I took lessons every day for years,» she tried to reassure him, making her way towards him. «Of course, unless you are afraid I would poison you.» She said it with a voice so serious that Killian lifted his gaze, not afraid at all, if anything… anguished.

After a few moments in which they kept studying each other in silence, Killian shook his head. «It's not fair from me to ask you to cook after such a long flight,» he said slowly, measuring his words.

As he went back to spice up the sauce – tomatoes, peppers and bacon bits, from what she could see – Emma stood where she was, growing more and more doubtful. «What would my role be?»

Hearing more than seeing the wooden spoon falling into the pan, Emma bit her tongue hard, cursing the fact that she hadn't been able to restrain herself. And yet they had taught her well how to, one way or another.

She saw Killian stiffen like a block of ice. A shadow passed on his face even though she could only see his profile.

Emma held her breath, ready to endure the punishment that awaited her.

Whatever punishment Killian Jones thought fit for her, though, didn't come. He just turned towards her, looking at her with those dangerous eyes while his face remained a mask of indifference. _It's still there, you can't separate the two_ , Emma said to herself, calling herself a stupid for having believed, even just for a minute, that he could _actually_ be the nice guy he'd just proven to be.

«Apologies, I shouldn't have spoken to you like that,» Emma whispered, bowing her head, her cheeks red from shame and humiliation. Sure, the wives didn't have a trial period, usually they were just good, but the husbands could send them back if the wives didn't know how to behave the way they wanted. A lump formed in her throat at the thought.

«Don't apologize, it's not your fault,» he said, but he wasn't gentle at all, now his voice seemed like creaking ice ready to break under her feet. «Yet, it's fair to inform you that this marriage will _never_ have anything to do with love. It's just a façade,» he added with a hard look, ready to crush her the moment she would go against him.

Taking a deep breath, Emma swallowed the lump she had in her throat and nodded, her eyes completely dry. _After years of torments, at least wearing a mask is easy, and to me it'll be useful if not essential_.

«Good,» she finally said, her voice hoarse, hoping he'd blame it on her long sleep, «so, at least here in the house, what will I have to do?»

For a moment, she could see surprise and sorrow in his piercing blue eyes, but kept up with his façade. «Nothing in particular, you're free to do whatever you want. You can even go to Drogheda and do shopping, as far as I'm concerned, or do what you desire the most. I won't confine you inside the house, at least you can count on this.»

«What if I wanted to escape?» She bit her tongue again, was it perhaps the distance from Madam that had loosened her tongue?

Killian lifted an eyebrow, almost amused by that possibility. He bended towards her, his lips brushed her ear as his breath gently ruffled her hair. «You try to escape and I will find you,» he threatened her, even though it seemed more like a promise.

She felt a shiver running down her spine, a mix of fear and excitement that she definitely shouldn't have felt. She should've asked him if she had to fulfil _other_ wifely duties, but she was sure she didn't want to know the answer. Probably he wanted her to be his toy – not that he could see her as something else, obviously.

«About more… _enjoyable_ activities,» he added, almost as if he could sense her silent question, «I _may_ want to claim my wife. If that can comfort you, I'll remain faithful to you, no lovers or one-night stands.»

Emma wanted to laugh. Why would he have wanted a lover if he had bought himself a wife? And not just any wife who was willing to obey his every order, but to even satisfy him in every way?

After that exchange, neither one of them talked much, and Killian finished cooking, serving her one of the best plates of pasta she'd ever tasted.

It was ridiculous, actually, saying something like that when, for years, she'd eaten delicious delicacies of some of the most talented chefs of New York. However, maybe it was the simplicity of that dish, maybe it was the fact that it was the first decent meal she'd had since the day before, but Emma still found it delicious.

During the dinner, the silence had been briefly animated by Killian's laugh when he'd seen her grab and chug a whole glass of water.

«You don't like spicy food?» he'd asked her, biting the corners of his lips to hold back another laugh.

She'd huffed, tempted to pout like a baby. «I do like it, but not if I can't feel my lips after,» she'd hissed not so gently as she refilled her glass.

The rest of the evening passed quietly, maybe even a little bit boring, and Emma insisted on washing dishes and pots – after all, he'd cooked, right? – so Killian reluctantly gave up.

Emma was finishing rinsing the dishes when she noticed the slight, imperceptible swelling at the center of her wrist. She'd completely forgotten about the chip, maybe because she was so used to it that it didn't bother her anymore, or maybe because she knew, deep in her heart, that she'd always be Madame's slave.

She ultimate her job and dried her hands before turning towards Killian, who was looking at something on his laptop. Emma leaned her hip against the marble countertop, unsure on how to start the discussion.

Of course, she couldn't just say "hey, you know, I've been promised at least to be free from Madame, so why don't you take out this blasted thing from under my skin so now I can be _your_ slave?". No, she definitely couldn't.

«I can hear you thinking, love,» he said making her wince from fear. He remined her a little of Ruby, always in ambush like a wolf, ready to jump on his prey: herself.

«Ah, uh, I…» she stuttered, clenching and unclenching her fists. «I don't know if when you… well, when you, uh, _married_ me, they've informed you but… I have a subcutaneous chip that you should remove.» She kept her gaze lowered, not daring to meet his eyes; she felt like an animal sold to the best bidder. And she actually was.

A long silence followed her words, heavy and filled with tension. Finally, after a sigh, Killian stood, walking towards her and putting two fingers under her chin so to force her to raise her head. «Show me where it is,» he ordered gently, no trace of disgust in his eyes, nor pity, just… respect.

Reluctantly, Emma raised her arm and grabbed his free hand, making him press his fingers on her wrist, just where the chip was.

Removing his delicate hold on her chin, Killian turned her wrist, exposing it to the light so to be able to attentively study it. Emma noticed that he wasn't handling her like an object, not at all, he was touching her almost with deference, a completely different attention from the one he'd reserved her earlier.

Without a word, he walked towards a cabinet and took out a first aid kit. Emma rolled her eyes, _of course_ he had one in the kitchen, after all, she'd seen the knives, surely sharp as razors.

Killian settled the kit on the island and made her sign to come closer. Noticing her reluctance, he smirked at her, arching a brow. «Relax, love, I won't make you the next Captain Hook. And I don't bite. Much.»

She huffed, only slightly amused by his joke – and flushed because of his innuendo. She pressed her lips into a thin line, placing her arm on the counter with her palm upwards. «If you amputate my hand, I'll have to exact revenge from you with another amputation. And it won't be your left hand.»

Her serious tone mad him wince slightly and their eyes met for a brief moment. «I'll do my best,» Killian replied faintly, opening the kit and pulling out disinfectant and what seemed like a surgeon's scalpel.

Emma raised her eyebrows but didn't ask any questions, not out loud, at least. Therefore, she was surprised when he said: «I happened to work with wood, and some splinters were bigger than the others. And then there are friends who, too rat-arsed, do things they shouldn't do.»

«Friends like Will?»

Killian laughed softly. «He told you?»

«No, it wasn't necessary,» she said, «I simply watched how he acted. I've seen many drivers and _no one_ has ever acted lik- _ouch_!» She went to pull her hand out of his grasp, but he tightened his fingers around her forearm.

«Shh, easy, lass,» he gently admonished her as he placed the scalpel aside and pulled out a pair of tweezers, «I don't want to risk tearing your hand, these jewels are highly dangerous in an inexperienced hand.»

Emma huffed, slightly amused, rolling her eyes. «Since when is an artist expert in medicine?» she teased him, cursing herself the moment the words left her mouth. «I'm sorry, I…»

It was Killian's turn to huff, exasperated. «Stop apologising, Emma, you don't have to follow a stupid silence rule that says you have to talk only when I give you permission to,» he clarified, pulling the microchip out of her flesh and placing it on a gauze. He took another and placed it upon the cut, inviting her to apply pressure so to stop the bleeding.

«Uh, well, thank you, then,» Emma said, feeling a bit empty-headed, and yet she hadn't lost too much blood. She rested her elbows on the counter, leaning towards Killian, who was studying the chip. «Usually, you destroy it and then, when they see the signal is gone, they call the customer and ask him if everything is alright. There won't be any contact after, unless someone is disappointed and the girl goes back to Madame.» She shut herself up immediately, surprised by her own loquacity.

«Mhm,» she heard him mumble, twisting the scalpel in between his fingers before holding it out to her. «Do you want to have the honour, love?»

His proposal meant more than a simple act of kindness, it was an act of liberation, as if he was allowing her to remove those invisible handcuffs all by herself, as if he was putting the reins of her life in her hands.

Biting her lower lip, Emma grabbed a chopping board nearby and laid the microchip on it. She took the scalpel from Killian's hand, brushing his fingers and feeling a shiver running up her arm. _It's just the wound, Emma_. Too bad that the microchip had been in her left arm and she was now using her right hand.

She breathed in deeply, trying to calm down, and then dug the scalpel into the chip, twisting it many times as if that was the only way she could ensure its definitive death and her own freedom.

And, in fact, it was just like that, because she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Sure, she was still married to a man she didn't know and she had to remain his wife for a long, long time, but something kept telling her she was finally free from Madame.

 _But Ruby isn't_ , a voice inside her head whispered, and that was enough to make her miserable again. Letting the scalpel fall with a thud on the wooden chopping board, she brought her hand to grasp the glass wolf hanging from her neck.

She was glad that Killian didn't ask about it, she wasn't ready to talk about Ruby, and maybe she never would be.

Without saying anything and giving him a last, tired smile, Emma went back to her room, knowing that she didn't need to thank him. It was strange, but he seemed to understand her better than she'd ever thought he could. Maybe she would've been able to confide in him, to feel free to express her true self, that part of her she'd forgotten, the one that had been teared away from her so she could become a puppet in others' hands.

She swept away that false hope, but its embers kept smouldering deep inside her soul, covered by ashes of denial, just waiting to burn again, bright and strong, ready to burn down everyone who ever tried to take their freedom away from them.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm so, so, sorry for the delay. I hope this chapter being 15k words long will make up for my absence. I've been caught up in uni stuff and it's gonna be worse, but we're not here to talk about my problems.**

 **I want to thank each one of you for the follows, favourite, likes, comments, kudos, reviews, it means so much to me that you like this fic.**

 **I apologize for the mistakes, I'm sure I made several, but this is unbeta'd and it's almost 4am but I couldn't wait to post this. So, on we go with the chapter - and a note below.**

 **Enjoy!**

Chapter 4

It'd been a week since her arrival in Drogheda, and Emma had visited the city only twice, still fighting with the jet lag, incapable of staying awake for a full day.

She'd started to drink even more coffee than her usual to accustom her body to this new time zone, since every morning she awoke almost at noon and she stayed up almost all night, sometimes watching her favourite tv series live, texting with Ruby.

They texted everyday even though they'd never succeeded in making a video call but what was important was that they could talk, that they could be there for one another.

They had dust off their code, Emma had told her that it was a mere marriage of convenience, and Ruby had sighed in relief, saying that, besides having to appear with him in public, she didn't have to do anything she didn't want.

Emma had expected a phone call in the middle of the night when she'd told her who her husband was, but instead she had just gotten an indignant reply about the fact that he hadn't put a ring on her finger yet. Well, literally, at least. Killian had never mentioned an engagement or a wedding ring, and she had never pressured him about it, knowing that, at the right moment, a ring would sparkle on her finger.

In her free time – because « _Emma, you don't need to work_ ,» – she had explored almost every corner of the mansion – she refused to call it "hose" since it was three sizes bigger than a normal one.

She had found the library, an enormous room similar to the one in _Beauty and the Beast_ , the indoor pool, the home gym with a few equipment she didn't dare to touch for fear of break them, and other rooms and living rooms and bathrooms impeccably furnished.

Thinking about Will's words, it must have been Killian's mother to supervise everything, there was a way too loving touch for it to be his.

She'd steered clear of his study, first of all because she didn't know if she would've been welcome in there and second of all because, had he wanted to give her a complete tour of the house, he would've included it.

Killian Jones was a mystery, she couldn't deny it and, for how much she tried to convince herself he wasn't, she wanted to know more about him. There was something in him, something familiar that attracted her, something broken, lost.

Shaking her head, Emma tried to focus on her reading. As if she didn't know it by heart, she was rereading _The Misérables_ , her favourite book and the first one she'd ever read in her life.

Her copy was almost completely worn out, a French version with its English translation printed at the beginning of the '80s. She'd found it in the attic of one of her foster families, in the same place she used to hide herself from the foster father who took particular pleasure in using the belt.

She started at the memory, causing the book to almost fall from her trembling fingers, and not because of the cold. She cuddled up on the armchair she had claimed as hers, comfortable and made of leather that allowed her to sit however she wanted, whether it was with her knees on one of the armrests or simply sitting with her legs folded under herself.

Feeling a shiver running down her legs, she rubbed her ankles covered with thick socks one against the other, curling up even more on herself, a blanket wrapped around her body as a mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon fumed on the low glass coffee table.

It hadn't snowed yet, but it had rained a lot and the wind wasn't stopping curling the waves and shattering them against the cliff.

She was almost at the end of the first book when a soft knocking on the door started her and skip a few heartbeats. She turned her head quickly, noticing Killian standing at the door, leaning on his shoulder against the doorjamb and his arms crossed. He was wearing a dark grey wool cardigan over a black button-up and black jeans, feet covered in socks and comfortable dark blue slippers.

For some weird reason, he seemed at war with himself, a light smile on his lips and a frown on his forehead.

«Apologies, love, I didn't want to scare you,» he said, walking up to her. He sat on the floor, leaning his back against one of the four armchairs placed around the coffee table. He nodded towards the book in her hands. «What caught you, this time?»

«Oh, it's not a book from your library,» she hurried to say, she didn't want him to think she was using his things without his permission.

A flash of rage passed over his face, but she could've simply imagined it. «Emma,» he said, voice hoarse, as if he was a lion ready to attack her. No, she had definitely not imagined it. «Everything in this house belongs to you, I have no problem in you using whatever you want, especially the books.»

Slowly, Emma nodded, holding the book to her chest. «It's a old copy of _The Misérables_ , I have it since I was little.»

Killian frowned even more. «Strange read for a child,» he observed, «although my first book was _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ , so I can't exactly judge you.»

Too curious to stop herself, Emma asked: «Is the book that pushed you to become an artist? Wanting to imprison the essence of things and make it immortal, perfect?»

Even though they had talked during the past week – almost not at all, actually, but they _had_ – they had never talked about his art, she didn't even know what was the subject of his paintings, if he had one, of course, for what she knew, he could be into abstract or modern art.

A baffled expression dawned on Killian's face, something between pleased and fear that Emma knew too well: the fear of being naked, exposed.

Knowing too well that feeling of fear, she hurried to add: «What did you want to tell me? I imagine you didn't come here just to talk to me, especially not about books.»

She was doing both of them a favour by changing the subject, she couldn't allow herself to become too attached and he didn't want to show her who he really was behind his harsh façade, who the man behind the artist was.

«Uh, aye,» he said awkwardly, trying to remember why he had come to her. «Yeah, uh, well, tonight a friend of mine will inaugurate her art exhibition at the Malesworth Gallery, and I thought it'd be a good way to introduce you to the others… to my friends, I mean.»

Emma weighed his words, apparently he didn't just want to show her in front of the press or gossip magazines – always supposing people actually read gossips about an artist, of course – but he also wanted to introduce her to his friends.

 _Well_ , she never would've expected that. However, it was part of her job, since she was his wife she would've had to meet his friends sooner or later, right? Lowering her gaze on the leather cover of the book she was clutching tightly in her hands, she nodded. «Sure, as you wish...» she whispered, almost hoping he wouldn't hear her. She'd soon learned that he didn't like when she was submissive, when she accepted everything he said as if she were a slave at the time of the Egyptians or something like that, but she couldn't help it, she was too broken to be what she truly wanted.

«I assume it's mandatory of me to confront myself with the walk-in-closet after having avoided it for all this time…» she tried to joke but it wasn't enough ironic to make him smile. «What's the subject of her works? Because… there is a theme, right?» _And goodbye art classes._

At that one, Killian smiled, almost delighted by her ignorance on the matter. «Oh, there is, but it's not like the MET Gala, you don't have to wear a themed gown to compete with other celebrities. Just be yourself.»

 _Just be yourself, easy for him to say, he_ knows _who he is, I… I'm just a puppet in his hands, a lost girl_. Fighting the discomfort his words brought her, Emma nodded before another thought clouded her mind. «What did you tell them about me?»

Killian shrugged. «Just that we met in Las Vegas, we got married and we spent a wonderful honeymoon in Paris. What I wrote on those papers, basically.»

Emma repressed a sigh. He didn't understand. He didn't understand that she wanted to know what he'd told them about _her_ , if he'd hinted at some kind of family or a job. Or, rather, he'd simply said that he'd married her and nothing more.

He must have read it on her face, though, because his expression changed and she could see discomfort in his eyes and… shame, perhaps? Was he ashamed of her? Or of the fact that he hadn't said much about her to his friends? She was sure about the first one, but a small part of Emma hoped it was the second.

«Oh, uhm, well, I've been vague about…» he added scratching behind his ear, Emma had noticed he did that often when he was embarrassed. Not that he was embarrassed too often, but it was something people noticed.

She nodded slowly, silently. «Good,» she replied, her shoulders slightly stiff from the effort she was making to not run away from the room. He wanted a trophy wife, why not show her off? It was simply absurd.

Of course, those were his friends, not strangers, maybe a part of him was embarrassed because of all of that. Nobody, however, must know what Emma's real past was, it was a safeguarded secret, and she had heard of people who'd actually _died_ while trying to investigate about the human trafficking.

«Stop that.»

His voice was anguished, and Emma looked at him, puzzled. There was a hint of pain in his eyes trained on her lap, where she'd placed her hand and she kept scratching the scar Killian had left on her wrist days before with her nails. Instead of a light scar, she now had a swollen and red one because Emma couldn't stop scratching it.

She breathed in deeply, clenching her hands into fists and dug her nails into her palms. «I'm sorry,» she whispered imperceptibly. Even if he heard her, he didn't say anything, simply looking away. «At what hour must I be ready?»

«The inauguration begins at 7pm, but Mary Margaret want us to be there earlier, so she can know you without any pressure and talk to you for more than five minutes. I'd say you should be ready by 6pm.»

Emma widened her eyes, looking at one of the two pendulum clocks in the library. It was just past 3pm – no, she didn't care about drinking hot chocolate almost two hours after lunch – and she needed _time_. «You might as well have told me at six!» she exclaimed grabbing the mug and the book before striding out of the library, followed by his dumbstruck expression and his light laughter. She pretended that sound didn't make her heart skip a few beats.

Putting book and mug on the drawer beside the door, Emma started to undress, leaving her clothes scattered about her room before running into the shower, not caring about the water being cold.

When she finished, her skin and hair smelled of vanilla, not too much but enough to be enticing. After having dried her hair, wrapped in a long towel that reached her knees, she went back into her room ready to face the walk-in closet, a room almost as big as the giant bathroom she'd only entered two times to put down her clothes and shoes.

Not having too much time at her disposal, she decided to discard the short and midi dresses, focusing on the longer ones. Killian hadn't told her what the theme of the exhibition was, but he was right, it wasn't the MET Gala. Laughing to herself, she asked if he'd ever received an invitation to the MET. She widened her eyes at the thought that, if they would actually invite him that year, maybe he would have to bring her with him. Her blood froze in her veins at the thought of going back to New York and of ending up on fashion magazines like Vogue.

She shook her head, opting to think about the short-term future and she randomly chose a red Elie Saab dress. _Of course he_ can _afford all these haute couture gowns_ , she thought with a grunt while she placed the dress on the back of the chair before going back into the room and searching for a pair of red lace thongs that wrapped sensually around her hips.

She didn't bother with a bra, with that dress she couldn't wear one, so she pulled out a box of silicone nipple covers for later, so she could avoid a nipple to peek out from under the dress. Even if many found it sexy, it actually wasn't, in fact, it was tacky.

Still with the towel wrapped around her body, she pulled out the jewellery box from the safe hidden behind one of the painting – Killian had explained that, even if it was highly unlikely thieves would break into the house, it was better be safe than sorry, especially when the house was so big and they were only two.

The box contained different jewels Madame had gifted the girls for the festivities or birthdays or anniversaries of sorts, each one of them refined and really expensive.

Without giving it too much thought, she grabbed a black hairband embellished with small rubies on the front. Grabbing the make-up bag, she placed herself in front of one of the two mirrors in the bathroom and started to fix her hair in an elaborate up-do a girl her same age, alone, would find extremely difficult to do.

Once placed the hairband and secured it with a fishtail braid that went all around her head, she did her make-up, satisfied with the result she'd managed despite the fact her hands were trembling because of anxiety.

Every girl, unless the client had given them a modified background, they all had a so-called plan B, a story that partly represented the way they'd lived until they'd been taken under Madame's wing.

For her part, Emma didn't fear meeting Killian's friends, she feared that, because of her past, nobody would want to have anything to do with her, or that they would keep glancing at her with pity in their eyes, or that they would tolerate her just because she was his wife. Or, again, that once they had shown themselves friendly, they would tell her she wasn't enough for him.

She had to breathe deeply to calm herself and avoid breaking the eye pencil she held in her hand. No, she would give the best impression of herself, she would pretend the broken, lost girl was nothing but a distant memory. Only an orphan would be able to recognize that feeling of loneliness and abandonment, and at the same moment the only one able to do so was Ruby.

Even if… she shook her head, it wasn't possible, probably it was just her imagination. Killian couldn't be as broken as she was, however sometimes she could see a crack in his façade behind which there was only an endless stretch of pain caused by abandonment.

But she was surely mistaken.

She left the bathroom, noticing that it was half past five, even with the music in the background she hadn't been aware of the passing of time. She added a last touch of lipstick and went back into the walk-in closet, grabbing the nipple covers along the way.

Careful not to touch her hair, she unwrapped the towel and placed the covers on her breasts before slipping on the dress. Starting from her thigh, where the folds began, the red of the dress started to fade towards a lighter shade. A shiver ran down her naked spine as she zipped up the dress without a problem since she learnt to do it by herself when she was young, even if it still was complicated at times.

The dress had a band around the waist, just below her breast, and a deep plunge on the back where straps criss-crossed her naked skin while other two parallel straps ran down towards the skirt creating three triangles. She filled the dress well without being vulgar, although she was concerned about the skin of her back, maybe she was too much exposed for a winter evening, but something said her it was worth it.

Singing to herself _Red Dress_ by Lucy Hale and Joe Nichols – _the irony, tsk_ – she chose a pair of Charlotte Olympia heels she'd never seen before – because _of course_ he'd bought her expensive shoes – and that would surely make her go through one hell of a night. They weren't ideal, but they were the ones that matched the dress perfectly.

She completed her look with red earrings and a bracelet of the same collection by Oscar de la Renta. Emma wore the bracelet on her left wrist, covering the red scar nobody would understand and about which they would ask many undesired questions.

She chose a golden ring with a big oval ruby on it and slipped it on her right ring finger. _At least I have_ one _ring_ , she thought bitterly as she turned off her iPod and grabbed a black coat and a red Prada purse in which she'd already put her phone and a few make-ups should she needed them.

Aware her hairstyle would be a mess if she ran, so she strode towards the entrance with the shoes in her hand. She didn't care about the fact that she actually wanted to make a stylish descent or that her cheeks were redder than necessary, after all it was Killian's fault because he didn't tell her earlier about their plans for the evening.

She noticed him at the foot of the stairs, he was wearing a dark suit and a black tie, but she was too focused on trying not to fall down the stairs while barefoot. She bended to pick up the skirt that threatened to make her stumble.

«Sorry, I thought I had more time,» she justified reaching the bottom of the stairs, «even if it's actually your fault, you could've warned me bef…» The words died on her lips the moment she lifted her gaze and took him in, his body wrapped in a black suit with a white shirt and a black tie she noticed was a bit loose.

Even if he'd tried to comb his hair, she was glad he hadn't drown it in grease or was comb backwards, instead leaving it falling on his forehead, slightly wild, just how she liked it.

While she seemed to be devouring him with her eyes, she noticed that he was doing the same with her, and her heart started beating even faster.

«You're stunning, Emma,» Killian whispered breathless, finally lifting his eyes to meet Emma's, his blue eyes shining with adoration.

Emma gulped and let out the breath she didn't know she was holding until her lungs started to burn. «And you… are…»

«I know,» he interrupted her with a satisfied smirk but at the same time almost embarrassed.

Nodding slowly, still shocked by her husband's beauty – not that she needed to stroke his ego even more – she placed the shoes on the floor and went to lean on the rail finding instead a support on the hand Killian had reached out to help her. She couldn't stop herself from looking at him stunned, but accepting it without a word.

«I thought you could wear this, tonight,» Killian said handing her a necklace with the other hand, a necklace with what surely were actual rubies and diamonds.

Emma widened her eyes, too astounded to think straight. «N-no, I can't…» she said after a few instant, «I mean, I can't, it's too much…»

Meeting his gaze, she saw that Killian was determined not to get a negative answer, looking at her with eyes almost pleading. «Please, Emma.»

She gulped, knowing that it wasn't a request, but an order. Holding back the sorrowful sigh that pressed against her lips, she turned, letting him tie the necklace around her neck, his warm fingers leaving shivers in their wake.

She instantly felt the metal cold and heavy against her skin, as if it didn't belong to her at all. She banished that thought, knowing she couldn't do otherwise.

«One more thing,» he said offering her another jewel, this time something that made her head spin slightly.

It was a white gold wedding ring with a thin gold milgrain band on both sides. It was so beautiful and simple that she almost cried, a strong contrast with the necklace he'd just gifted her.

With a lump stuck in her throat, she nodded and took the ring, slipping it on her finger. It fit perfectly. Of course, they didn't only take her measurements for dresses, but even those for engagements and wedding rings. Emma felt the jewel burn her skin, a strange weight on her hand.

Without saying a word, Killian helped her put on the coat and offered her his arm, inviting her to follow him downstairs and then outside where they met Will standing beside the black Audi.

«Emma, allow me to say that you're beautiful, lass,» he greeted her with a smile, and Emma felt herself flush while Killian stiffened slightly beside her. She almost wanted to calm him, but his reaction made her almost feel he _felt_ something for her. What an absurd thought.

«Thank you, Will. You too are dressed up to the nines, tonight.»

«Boss' orders,» replied the Englishman with a nod towards Killian.

Emma nodded in understanding. «If it's not a problem, can I ask you why do you work for him? I mean, I know you're not a real driver. No offense,» she added awkwardly, her cheeks even more red, but not as red as they'd been when she'd descended the stairs. Her heart missed a beat at the recent memory.

Will smirked. «You caught me, Emma, now I'll have to kill you for having revealed my secret,» he said melodramatically. «Anyway, your dear husband here offered me this job to allow me to gain something to ask my girlfriend to marry me. I've not had the best of lives, bar fights and a few theft, just a few innocent things, though, eh!»

«Ana is even too good for you, mate,» Killian cut in, slightly irritated under his kind façade. «Now, if you don't mind, I wouldn't have my wife's delectable derrière freeze out here. And we're late.»

«Aye, aye, Captain.»

Emma found herself chuckling as she got in the car, gathering up her skirt so she wouldn't ruin it. She leaned back against the seat, trying to relax as Will started the car and drove off, leaving the Irish sunset behind.

A part of her wondered if what she'd heard in Killian's voice earlier was irritation. She shook her head: it wasn't possible, he couldn't be irritated because she, _his wife_ , talked friendly with Will, his _friend_ and driver who had that job because he was so in love with his _girlfriend_ and wanted to buy her an _engagement ring_.

She refused to believe he was _jealous_ because it'd mean that, somewhat, he cared about her. Nah, he probably was simply possessive. But didn't possession originate from a feeling of affection?

«I still don't understand how you women can walk in those death traps,» Killian mumbled, critically studying her red pumps with a low gold platform.

Emma smirked. «Us women are stronger than you'd ever think,» she replied, after all they bled for five days every month without dying, they carried one – or more – human being in their womb for nine months, they got catcalled and keep their heads up and maintained their dignity. Those, though, were things Emma didn't know at all, if not for the menstrual pains. Dignity was something that had slowly been torn away from her by Madame's polished nails and her psychological games.

«I don't doubt it, but they really seem painful.»

«I know only one person that could even _sleep_ in stilettos,» she chuckled, thinking about Ruby. Even if that girl didn't need heels to highlight her kilometric and lean legs, shoes were her weakness. Her hand automatically reached up to her neck, just above her cleavage where, instead of the red glass wolf, rested the cold ruby necklace. Even if that colour belonged to her best friend, nothing could compare to that wolf.

Surprisingly, Killian grabbed the hand she had in her lap, as if he knew about her pain. No, he couldn't even imagine it. When she'd slipped off the wolf, knowing she couldn't wear it tonight, she'd put it in her purse, she just had to have it with her somehow.

She noticed Killian looking at her with an arched eyebrow, and she frowned, tilting her head. «What?»

«Please tell me it's a wig, I can't believe you made that… whatever it is all alone.»

At that, Emma burst out laughing, even bending forward because her stomach had started to hurt. «Oh my god,» she said still panting, looking at Killian. « _Oh my god_ , you're serious!»

He had the decency of blushing, and Emma noticed how the tips of his ears were just adorable tinted in red. «Well, I'm sorry if I'm not an expert of hairstyles.»

«Be thankful for the fact that I didn't copy one of those hairstyles models have on the runway.»

Killian widened his eyes. «All that verticalism challenging the force of gravity?»

«And flashy and heavy jewels, and a lot of make-up, a zombie-like expression on their faces… Yeah, you know, a walking dead.»

Feigning offence, he gave her a slight shove with his shoulder, making her realize how close they were. Narrowing her eyes, she avenged herself, putting much more strength than necessary in it, almost shoving him straight against the car door.

«Children, children, behave,» Will reprimanded them, looking at them from the rear-view mirror, shaking his head. Emma was tempted to stick her tongue out at him.

Emma fixed her skirt, pressing her red-covered lips together slightly. «I'm not overdressed, right? I mean, I won't find myself surrounded by mini-dresses or people dressed as if they were going to the gym or to some haute couture runway show during the fashion week, will I?»

«Emma,» Killian gently shushed her with a tone of voice she'd never heard whenever she'd spoken with him, «you're beautiful, you'll make everyone's head spin. It's a pretty much important event, you won't see people with ripped jeans and flannel shirts. Mary Margaret has to make a good impression, besides, she's really meticulous about elegance and perfection. You'll see that in her own paintings if you won't stop at your first impression.»

She bit her tongue, refraining herself from saying that she wasn't superficial at all. She wasn't, but she wasn't able to understand what people felt, she could understand them to a point, because she didn't have the same carefreeness as them, she hadn't felt them herself, and she wasn't even allowed to feel any emotion. Not even with Killian she was able to build a bridge, although she could glimpse that same lost child she could feel within herself. Even if she didn't want to play or deceive herself, she _knew_ it was there, such a loneliness couldn't be faked that easily.

She found herself lifting her chin. «I'll see if she's better than you,» she replied trying to be bold even if she had never seen anything Killian had made. She was sure he was working on something, but he was distracted. She, though, didn't want nor could interfere, she didn't know how to solve her own problems, let alone her husband's – a husband who wanted her just to show her off and, _eventually_ , bed her.

With a sigh, Emma snuggled up even more into the coat, the collar caressing her chin, giving her a sense of warmth that, despite the car heating being turned on, she couldn't grasp.

«However, she's good, she's got a good hand. At first, you'd say it hadn't been her the one who'd painted those canvas, but inside her there's something wild, as if she was some kind of bandit princess, or the princess of thieves.»

«Mhm, I think that title is Maid Marian's, since she's Robin Hood's companion, isn't she?» Emma tried to be ironic, something she would've done with Ruby and never would've dreamed doing with Killian. She bit the inside of her cheek to not ruin the lipstick, hoping she hadn't indirectly offended his friend – or worse, him – with that joke.

To her surprise, Killian chuckled. «In fact, she's more into Prince Charming,» he said as if it was some kind of inside joke.

Furrowing her brow, Emma hunched her shoulders and lost herself in the landscape that, under the light of the setting sun, seemed to be aflame, sparking in her more worries and an almost irrepressible want of scratching her nails over her wrist.

 _And you, Killian Jones, are you a prince or a thief?_ , she asked herself holding back a sigh. She would've liked to play with a strand of her hair, but if she had touched it her work would've been irremediably lost.

They remained silent for the rest of the drive, Emma lost looking at the landscape that she was slowly starting to know and Killian lost in his own thoughts – and in _Candy Crush Soda Saga_ , but she would never point it out to him. In the background, Will had played a disc Bruce Springsteen's hits, _Born to run_ seeping through her bones, scaring her to death.

Will was humming, his English accent completely wrong for that song, even nodding to the rhythm. She almost laughed, but the meaning of that song was too much for her. She closed her eyes, trying to think about something else, everything but that, running away from a song that talked about running.

There was a flaw in Springsteen's reasoning: in the end, Wendy came back to London, she didn't stay on Neverland, _she_ wasn't a lost girl.

She thought about Ruby, trying to imagine what she was doing. She missed their excursions in the kitchen at night, baking as if they were in a real house and pretending they were sisters. Madame knew about it, but she turned a blind eye on them, what was important to her was that the girls were as much serene as possible, as far as their condition allowed. Chef Louis, instead, wasn't all that comprehensive, and the first time, after leaving a real disaster in the kitchen, he'd forced them to clean everything up and wash all the dishes. Over time, he still had taken them under his wing and had allowed them to use the kitchen with the promise that they'd keep it shining.

The drumming of Killian's fingers on her knee teared her away from those not really unhappy memories with so much force it almost hurt. She lifted her gaze on him, his blue irises with undisguised worry.

«We're here,» he announced, tension loud and clear in his voice. It was obvious he was agitated, after all this was the acid test for him too, he had to make sure his lie wouldn't be uncovered, that nothing was rebuttable.

After a deep breath to calm the frantic beat of her heart, Emma nodded and waited for him to step out of the car and reached out his hand to her before following him, clutching her trembling fingers around his, not less agitated.

The street was packed with people waiting to enter, flashes of cameras immortalized the scene from the outside while red tents covered the windows to prevent them to see inside, hiding their secret a little longer. Bodyguards kept the passage that led to a closed dark blue door clear.

Emma felt everyone's eyes on her and she felt the urge to run, escape from those judging eyes. And to say they'd just got a glimpse of her, red against the black of the car, and they didn't know who she was, what she'd gone through, what piece of human waste she was.

Killian, as if reading her mind, he tightened his grip on her hand and gave her a light tug, as if he wanted to give her the push she needed, not an order. He could only imagine how she felt, but Emma was almost sure that, even though he'd bought her and she'd been mild-mannered towards him, he thought she actually had feelings. She was human, after all, wasn't she?

Keeping her head lowered, she stepped out of the car and let Killian tugging her to him, wrapping an arm around her waist, one of his hand against her side while the other was still holding hers tightly.

She felt his lips moving against her temple, his warm breath tickling her skin. «Let them talk, Emma, let them think what they want, you won't change their mind, what's important is that you know who you are.»

There was a deep sadness in his whispered words, it was obvious he'd experienced that feeling on his own skin, and that had played a part in hardening him, making him the man he was now – the man who bought a wife instead of letting himself follow his heart.

Slowly, and not convinced at all or encouraged by those words either, Emma nodded, letting him push her gently towards the door. With a nod of their heads, the two blonde men let them pass.

She didn't have the time to sigh in relief for having covered those few meters nor to look back that a voice caught her attention.

«Killian!»

The voice belonged to a woman with black raven hair gathered up in a low chignon and secured with a flower-decorated comb, green cheerful eyes lit up with happiness. Emma lifted her gaze on Killian and saw him smile as he'd never done before. She was pleasantly fascinated but was torn from her contemplation by Killian himself, who released her hand to shake the woman's.

«Milady,» he told her with a wink, kissing her hand like a perfect gentleman, «you're charming tonight.»

The woman shook her head, a smile on her lips. «Don't be a flatterer with me, Jones, and especially not in front of your wife whom you didn't even introduce me to.» Her scolding was more motherly than friendly. But, then again, Emma had never had a mother so she couldn't really tell the difference.

«Forgive me,» Killian said blushing slightly before shifting his gaze on Emma. «Mary Margaret Nolan, this is my wife, Emma. Emma, this tiny little thing is Mary Margaret, one of my closest friends as well as a brilliant artist.»

At the word _wife_ Emma's heart started beating madly, doing somersaults inside her chest like a bird trying to get out of the cage. It was a fitting comparison since she'd always been a prisoner.

Picking up her courage, Emma held out her hand to shake the one Mary Margaret was offering her. «It's a pleasure to meet you,» she said trying not to grit her teeth while forcing those words to come out of her mouth. It wasn't a _dis_ pleasure, not at all, but she had to suck this one up, too. And God, she would have to do so repeatedly, this was her life since she was born, and maybe even before, since her mother and father, whoever they were, decided to abandon her.

«It's a pleasure to meet _you_ , Emma, I'm glad you made an honest man out of Killian,» Mary Margaret said with a smile on her lips that Emma catalogued as fake. She wasn't telling her the entire truth, but she couldn't understand if it was about her happiness, if she was happy about their wedding or not.

 _Honest, sure, ask him who his wife is, how he found me, and_ then _you'll be allowed to tell me that he's an honest man. Maybe_. Holding back those thoughts, Emma wore one of those smiles _à la Madame_ , coldly kind but somewhat compliant, two dimples drew on her cheeks.

«The pleasure is mine, Mary Margaret.» Neither of them could say they'd heard much about each other, but she had to admit, meeting Killian's friend wasn't as terrible as she had imagined. _This is because she doesn't know anything, idiot_ , she told herself without breaking her smile.

«You know, I was surprised to hear that Killian got married, especially without this big ceremony on the beach he kept talking about when he didn't have even a hint of hair on his chin,» Mary Margaret joked, making Killian blush furiously, the tips of his ears incandescent.

Emma couldn't hold back a smile. «Well, there _was_ water, in a way,» she said almost sweetly, «we convinced the officiant to marry us in front of a fountain.» She didn't need to look towards Killian to see that an expression of surprise had appeared on his face, she felt his eyes on her. However, she would've had to look to see a some kind of awe that didn't go unnoticed by Mary Margaret.

«And the bloody pedestrians thought we were filming some kind of movie,» Killian continued, rolling his eyes.

«You didn't complain when you were praising yourself of being so handsome no one could tear their cameras away from you.»

«Oh, no, darling, I'm _devilishly_ handsome,» Killian replied with a grin that made her skip a few beat.

It was almost bearable, if not even pleasant, that banter, light and heavy with malice. _Simple_. Yes, being married with this Killian Jones, the fun and dirty-minded one that didn't know how to put a stop to his innuendos, was easy. But Killian had decided to show the darkest side of himself, the cold and indifferent one, distant, just like the painting that covered the original idea of a painting, hiding the true drawing, the one that was perfect without any more retouch.

«Sure, dear, as you say,» Emma said rolling her eyes, allowing herself to pat his shoulder.

Physically, they had never moved at the same pace, or rather, it seemed there wasn't any pace at all from either of them. For Killian's part, indifference reigned, whether, on the inside, Emma wanted to touch him, to explore him, a want that, every time he touched her, even if innocently, made her jump like a spring. She wasn't sure he felt it, too, that electric shock that spread through her body focusing on her lower abdomen, leaving a trail of energy behind that she could let out only in bed. Or against the wall. Or on the kitchen counter. Or on the floor.

She banished those images, she didn't even know how Killian's body was, even though she'd been lucky: he wasn't a fat man, he didn't smell and his perspiration wasn't copious. For the rest, the body he hid under those clothes was precluded to her almost like the freedom she oh so much desired. Ironic, wasn't it? If Killian didn't decide to get it out of his system, so to speak, she would probably die a virgin. Not that she wanted Killian just for sex, no, not at all, but… _God, this is all so complicated_.

«Earth to Emma.»

Killian's voice made her jump. «I-I'm sorry, I got distracted for a moment,» she said blushing fiercely, becoming almost as red as the dress she was wearing.

«Well, at least you didn't beat a retreat; Mary Margaret can have that effect,» a voice behind her joked.

«Thank you oh so much, _Charming_ ,» Mary Margaret snapped, betraying herself with a warm smile.

Emma turned around an followed with her eyes a tall man with dark blond hair heading towards them and flanking Mary Margaret, wrapping an arm around her waist. «You must be Emma. I'm David Nolan.»

 _Oh, he_ definitely _isn't her brother_ , Emma thought noticing the twin wedding rings on their ring fingers, on Mary Margaret's shone an emerald. Emma didn't even have an engagement ring, and it could've been pretty obvious since there never had been an actual engagement.

She forced herself to smile and shake the hand David was holding out. «It's a pleasure, David,» she replied sounding like a broken record, but she couldn't say Killian had told her about him, or that she knew what kind of brilliant career he had. She didn't know anything about these people just like they didn't know anything about her.

«How do you like it here in Ireland? It's not like being in the States, is it?» Mary Margaret intervened, a challenging light in her eyes. Emma wasn't sure if it was because she didn't believe in their marriage or if she just wanted to test its effectiveness.

 _Subtle, really subtle_. Killian stiffened slightly beside her, even if he might had expected a third degree from his friend, he evidently didn't think she would be so harsh.

Wearing her best mask, Emma widened her smile, trying not to make it sad with the truth behind her words. «I've seen enough of the States to say that the landscape is sometimes really beautiful, but I've never experienced the same freedom Ireland seems to give. There really is something magical in this land.»

Mary Margaret seemed pleased with her response, the corner of her lips curved upwards was the only hint that betrayed the fact that she was holding back a smile. «I'm happy to heart hat. David and I too come from the States. Well, I came here when I was little, when my father got married again, for David it's been just a few years.»

Surprised, Emma widened her eyes. Well, she wasn't that much surprised, they didn't have an Irish accent, instead she should've been surprised of how much at ease she was with them, maybe because she hadn't yet realized she actually was in Ireland. Her thoughts went straight to Ruby, and the mask of kindness slipped from her face just for a few seconds before going back to its place.

«Wow, it's… nice knowing I'm not the only stranger here,» she commented, forcing a little laugh out of her lips.

As if she'd handed her a succulent bait, Mary Margaret's eyes lit up. «Where are you from? And how did your parents take the news? I mean, you're pretty young and…» It was David's hand on his wife's shoulder that stopped her from continuing that highly inappropriate third degree.

Emma froze.

Of course, she'd expected that kind of questions, her husband's friends couldn't not want to know her, not ask themselves where she'd lived, what her parents thought about her rushed wedding, but she'd never expected them to be so direct, nor for them to be asked in a public place, nor with both of them looking at her, waiting, hungry for information, who in a more obvious way, who less.

Killian had stiffened again beside her, he clearly had not expected her friend to be so brutal either. «Emma's parents…»

Before he could say more, Emma dug her nails in his arm, almost tearing the fabrics of the jacket and the shirt he was wearing, feeling his stiff biceps tremble slightly under her fingertips. She had to prevent him from saying something he would regret. He hadn't given her a story? Well, then, now he would have to stick to _her_ story, the real one, the one he would've never wanted to hear because in that case he should've been ashamed of her.

She inhaled deeply, remembering how many times she had to repeat those words in front of the mirror, most of the times with warm tears running down her cheeks or with Ruby holding her hand to give her courage.

Telling that story out loud, though, like that, before two of her husband's friends – of her _client_ – was something entirely different. This time it was true, the moment she opened her mouth her true story couldn't be changed.

«My parents probably don't know if I'm alive or not, I don't think they care since they left me on a freeway in Main when I was barely a few hours old.»

She'd tried to use a playful tone to make them believe her wound was healed and she could joke about it, but her grim voice seemed to not even belong to her.

The wound was still more than open, it was an abyss, and Emma was on the edge of it, her gaze lost in that precipice in which echoed the phrase: « _you will never be enough for someone to want you_ ».

And how true those words were, not even her own husband wanted her, not her nor her body, he only wanted her figure, the fact that he could do with her whatever he wanted introducing her to his friends and showing her off like a trophy.

On Mary Margret's face dawned a mortified expression – and Emma thought she even saw her eyes become watery. She was about to open her mouth, probably to apologize, but Emma stopped her with a wave of her hand.

«It's not a problem, really.» She asked herself if she was trying to convince herself or the woman in front of her. «Once you convince yourself you're not that broken to not be wanted by anyone, things… start to get better. And that's what I tried to teach the orphans I worked with.»

What surprised her, though, was Killian's reaction. He had stiffened again next to her but, unlike before, he didn't seem annoyed, but… _scared_. Of what, Emma didn't have the faintest idea.

She kept her gaze on David and Mary Margaret, she didn't want to see the repulsion she would surely read on Killian's voice. She wouldn't be able to bear it, at least not in public. Later, at home, he could let his anger out on her.

«Well,» Mary Margaret started, putting the shame she was feeling aside, «I assume this caveman of a husband you have didn't let you eat, after all he has his own diet and whenever he goes to an exhibition, even if it's not his but a friend's, he's not able to eat because of the nerves.» With a smile, she grabbed Emma's hand, making her wince. «Come on, this way, the catering I chose is simply divine!»

Completely taken aback by that gesture, Emma lifted her gaze on Killian, as if to ask him for permission. What she read in his eyes left her speechless.

While in Mary Margaret's eyes there had been that kind of sadness commonly associated with pity, in Killian's was the same expression Emma saw every morning in the mirror or on Ruby's face, and in that moment she had the confirmation she needed: Killian Jones was an orphan, maybe not literally, but he too had woken up in the middle of the night, crying, wondering why he hadn't been enough to make his parents – either one of them or both – stay by his side.

She felt a sharp pain in her chest, as if someone was breaking her heart. Killian's look was breaking her heart. She fought the urge to hug him and let both their broken hearts find comfort in each other.

However, she squeezed his arm and stretched her neck to press her lips on his cheek, a light kiss that made a violent electric charge surge through her body. She almost feared she would turn into ash in that same moment.

It was the first time she went that far, the first time she was so bold with him, but, after all, it was her duty, Killian seemed to not want to treat her like an object, not in front of his friends: the couple needed to believe the two of them were madly in love and, despite it wasn't a kiss in need of an awkward clearing of throats to take them back on Earth, it still was something.

She turned towards Mary Margaret with a faint smile and her cheeks aflame, unable to find the courage and look at Killian's expression. It must surely be disgusted, and in that moment she couldn't afford to feel herself treated like she was nothing, not more than she had always been treated until that moment.

When they had walked far enough away from the men and they couldn't see them anymore, Mary Margaret gave her a faint smile. «I have to thank you, you know?» she said, catching her by surprise. Emma frowned, tilting her head on the side. «I never thought I could see him so happy after what happened.»

Mary Margaret's voice was grave, somber, and Emma asked herself for the first time if Killian had really wanted a trophy wife. She had actually asked that herself so many times she had lost count; however, the reason didn't always depend on the fact whether he wanted it or not.

Men bought women because they wanted them, and they used this desire as main reason to do that. Killian had bought her for a specific reason, but the fact that he'd clearly said he didn't want to have anything to do with her, if not, maybe, for some occasional sex, had her suspect that he didn't want to find himself in that situation either.

Mary Margaret must have thought Killian had told her what had happened, so, even if she didn't know a thing about her husband if not for what she'd read on his face just a few moments before, she replied: «Killian and I… we understand each other. We both have been burnt by something bigger than us, and we picked up each other's pieces. I believe… I believe this is the reason we're so good together.»

 _God_ , how much she wanted those words to be true.

 _No, wait a minute_ , she scolded herself, reminding herself she did _not_ want that life, that she did _not_ want Killian. She couldn't want him, she wouldn't be the victim of a stupid Stockholm Syndrome falling for the man who'd bought her just because they were two broken orphans, two lost children.

Her reply must have satisfied Mary Margaret because the woman nodded and headed towards the buffet tables lavished with desserts Emma had never seen in her life.

In the first years of her life she'd been a fragile little thing, the law in the foster homes was cruel: if you weren't fast enough, you would not eat. Emma had learned it at her own expenses, just as she had learned to sleep without blankets during the iciest of winters, or to not make her foster parents angry when they had an attachment to human ashtrays or their belts.

If it was possible, Mary Margaret's smile widened even more. «You must love him very much,» she said, and it seemed more like a question.

Emma made her best to not stiffen and to maintain a neutral expression, but her blood had run cold in her veins. Even if she wanted to, how could she love someone when she didn't even know what love was? She only knew the fraternal love that tied her to Ruby, but she didn't know anything about how love between a man and a woman should and could be, no matter how much the books she'd read had praised it in all its shades.

Unable to speak, she just nodded, wearing her most sugary smile, as if she was a teenager at her first crush.

«Come on, let's go, I wouldn't want to throw away all of this,» Mary Margaret sighed, handing her a white ceramic plate with a golden border. Of course, because simple napkins or plastic plates weren't contemplated at that kind of events.

«Isn't there an orphanage or some other charity to give them to?» Emma asked before she could bit her tongue and keep that stupid phrase behind her teeth. Mary Margaret looked at her with surprise, as if she had never heard about charity. «Forgive me, I didn't want to overstep, of course you already know what to do with eventual leftovers and…»

«Emma,» Mary Margaret interrupted her placing a hand on her arm to stop her, «you don't have to apologize. I was surprised by your question because I'd never considered it. It isn't a bad idea, but I'd rather donate something more than simple leftovers to those poor children.»

 _Sometimes, leftovers are the only thing that feed those children_ , Emma would've liked to reply, but she took wise decision of biting her tongue. «As I said, I didn't want to overstep,» she replied, maybe a little bit coldly.

Without waiting for her to say anything more, Emma headed towards the buffet, noticing how it played with mainly three colours: red, white and black. It was pretty simple, but she was nobody to have a say in the woman's choices; she'd already caused enough troubles.

On the long table pushed against the wall there were all sorts of salty crackers and desserts, almost all of them white. There were mini-cupcakes with white or red or both colours icing, glacé cherries and candy apples – she found strange that people would eat candy apples at an event like that – brownies covered with icing sugar or frosting, biscuits of various shapes decorated with tricolour icing, macarons and other pastries Emma couldn't put a name on.

She almost started to cry, that was more food she'd ever seen in all her life.

When she was under Madame's tutelage food was never scarce, the girls always followed a diet to keep themselves in shape without getting excessively skinny – unless clients demanded it, of course – but now Emma didn't have to follow a diet if Killian didn't order her to.

It wasn't just that, but also the fact that there really was so much food, delicious delicacies she could only see from afar or desire passing in front of a bakery when she was a little girl. Tears stung her eyes but she batted her eyelashes to banish that unpleasant sensation.

Putting Madame's teachings to good use, Emma squared her shoulders and filled her plate without seeming like she was about to starve to death but famished enough to seem like a person who didn't follow a bread and water diet.

While she was doing so, she took her time to take a better look at Mary Margaret. The woman had a pale skin, cheeks flushed even if it wasn't too hot and she didn't seem fatigued, even though it probably was just tension. Instead of wearing a dress that recalled the colours of the buffet as Emma would've expected, Mary Margaret had chosen a cherry blossom pink gown with long puffball sleeves. It might have been a bit too loose, especially around her waist, which made Emma think that her flush had nothing to do with the exhibition. Not entirely, at least. At her lobes, hidden under a cascade of ebony hair gathered in an up-do and secured with a comb, she wore pink pearls surrounded by small diamonds.

She really looked like an innocent fairytale princess, even if she wasn't that much subtle when it came to making people understand she didn't trust them. Mary Margaret should've kept her guard high, Emma thought, since she'd been convinced by a simple sob story.

She did her best to not grit her teeth; here's what happened to those who pitied someone: you got played, and in the end you weren't yourself anymore.

«I know this might sound stupid, and it's probably too soon, but… do you think you'll go looking for a work like the one you had in New York? Maybe Dublin is a bit too far, I wouldn't know, but maybe some minor orphanage, or an hospital near Drogheda might be just the thing, right?»

Emma froze and, fortunately for her, she'd placed the plate on the table, otherwise she would've certainly dropped it on the floor.

The problem wasn't finding a job, she had good credentials, although fake, but she had no experience, especially not in the field she'd said she had a specialization in, not without a degree or something like that – not that she needed it, in her opinion experience was worth much more than a piece of paper, probably because she wasn't even sure she could make it through the university.

Actually, the real problem was that she still was the same lost girl with a split lip and tears in her eyes Madam had found hidden behind a roses bush, on her arms and legs red gashes left by the thorns that had cushioned her fall.

Even if she'd said that once overcame the feeling of not being enough everything got easier, she couldn't actually know that, because she was _still_ broken, she was still that baby girl who'd never received a breadcrumb of love once in her life. How could she teach how to love to lost children like her when she didn't know how to love in the first place?

That's why, as Madame used to say, her girls were perfect: not knowing how to love there wasn't the risk they would fall in love with their clients, after all they weren't looking for love, not between the girl's legs. They were just an object, an entertainment they didn't feel anything for if not attraction.

Taking her time, she bit down on a pastry and slowly chewed on it, lowering her gaze on the floor. She knew Mary Margaret was waiting for a response, but she couldn't let any of her doubts come to the surface.

«Uhm, well, I still have to get used to the time difference, now in New York it'd be two in the afternoon, my body is slowly adjusting.» She was dancing around the matter, they both knew that. «Besides, it was a friend of mine who actually helped me find that job, I don't know if here the same credentials are good enough, I don't have a degree and I don't even feel like I'm needed…»

Mary Margaret's gentle hand was warm on her shoulder. «I'm sure that every decision you'll make Killian will support you,» she said as if she'd understood the real reason that pushed her to feel so reluctant. «After everything his mother did I doubt he wants to stand in your way. He could even help you. I can put in a good word for you, if you want.»

«But you don't even know me.»

The only person who'd tried to help her without knowing her had been Madame. Even if she knew they were completely different people, Emma couldn't help but being wary, if not incredulous.

Mary Margaret's lips lifted in a big smile, an _honest_ one. «You have a good heart, Emma. You made Killian love again. That's enough for me.»

What shocked her was the fact that Mary Margaret wasn't lying, that it actually was enough for her. _If only she knew the truth_.

She was about to open her mouth when her phone started to ring inside her purse. She hadn't bought a new one, the moment she'd try to contact Ruby, Madame would have it hacked.

She frowned, searching Killian in the crowd, founding him involved in a conversation with David and Will, who had joined them with a breath-taking blonde at his arm, probably the same Ana her husband had mentioned earlier.

«Excuse me,» she said to Mary Margaret, heading towards a more secluded place. She frowned even more when she read Ruby's name on the screen. «Yeah, Wolfie?»

«Swan!» Her best friend's scream forced her to distance the phone from her ear with a light chuckle. «Or is it Jones, now?»

«Wolfie,» Emma warned her with a low hiss.

«Alright, alright. Nice necklace, though, a worthy replacement for my wolf.» There was a bite in her voice, and Emma's heart clenched.

«It's not my fault. Besides, the wolf is in my purse, I could _never_ part with it.»

«I know, I'm sorry. It's just… I want to be there with you,» Ruby admitted, mortified, as if she was ashamed of that thought.

«I want you to be here, too, Ruby,» she murmured, swallowing the lump in her throat. Remembering where she was, Emma recovered. «As much as I love the fact that you called me, you know that if Madame found out she'll punish you, don't you? I don't want anything to happen to you because of me.»

Ruby huffed. «Emma, she _knows_ , no call or text is sent or arrives without her supervision. I just wanted to compliment you about the dress choice, I know it's all you, I know your style. Oh, and also about the husband, he's really hot.»

«Yeah, I bet you think so, as if you hadn't already went through enough photos to know how he is even better than I do.»

The line went silent for a few moments. «Oh,» Ruby finally said, «so… nothing?»

«Nada, Rubes, _nada_.»

«If he doesn't jump you tonight either he's stupid or he's gay.»

Emma laughed, in a low tone, but she _laughed_. God, how she missed Ruby, how could she think of living a life without her?

«Are you having fun?»

Killian's voice behind her made her jump, and she almost dropped her phone. «I have to go, I love you,» she said and ended the call without waiting for Ruby's reply. «I'm sorry, it was just Ruby, I thought…»

«Emma,» he interrupted her, laying a hand on her arm, the contact burning her like a flame she was attracted to but from which she didn't know she had to distance herself, «you don't have to apologize to me. Ruby is your family, and I know yours isn't an easy position, at all, and I understand that you want to keep in touch with her.»

Emma reluctantly lifted her eyes on him, twisting her mouth in a half smile, a grimace, most likely.

«Besides, I should thank you: she made you laugh, after all,» Killian added, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered a moment too long on her neck, leaving the memory of a lava flow behind them.

She blushed, both because of the comment and his touch. «Ruby has always had this power, it's her talent,» she admitted, hunching her shoulders.

«I hope I'll be able to make you smile, too.»

His confession left her stunned, she couldn't believe he actually wanted her to laugh. _Trophy wives don't laugh unless they're ordered to_ , she remembered that lesson, but Killian's wasn't an order, no, it seemed more like a desire. Or it was her who wanted it to be a desire? God, she was so confused.

«Well,» she began, not knowing how to reply to his words, «try to not make any more stupid jokes and I'll _see_ what I can do.»

That earned her a laugh from him. «You're quite difficult to please, but I'll do my best.» He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips, placing a light kiss on it. «Now, come on, Mary Margaret is ready to make her speech.»

Emma covered her mouth with her free hand. «Oh my god, she must hate me after I ditched her like that!»

Killian placed another kiss on her hand, as if to reassure her and she thought that, had they really been man and wife, he would've kissed her on the forehead or the temple, not on her _hand_. «Nobody will hate you for something futile like that, it was, after all, an important call.» He bent towards her, his breath tickling the sensible skin of her neck. «Besides, she deserved it for how she treated you earlier.»

She felt her stomach twist in a knot. Nobody, _nobody_ had ever stuck up for her, nobody had ever taken her side. Everything was so… so strange. New. Too good to be true.

«She had every reason to be suspicious, after all you're rich, brilliant, famous, it shouldn't surprise me that your friends don't want to see you suffer for a woman who just wants you for your money.»

Her words must have stunned him because he stiffened. She didn't dare looking him in the eyes, opting to keep her gaze on his slightly loose tie. «But she didn't had the right to be disrespectful,» he murmured after a few minutes, wincing slightly when her fingers went up to fix his tie.

« _Now_ we can go,» Emma said with a faint smile, her cheeks red-tinted from embarrassment due to her hasty gesture.

Kissing her hand one more time, Killian took her by the arm and led her towards the first floor, where the guests had already gathered around Mary Margaret.

«Thank you everyone for being here tonight, you don't know what it means to me having reached this important milestone of my dream. Since I was a little girl, my mother said I had a great gift, I painted every wall of my house with flowers and trees and things a five-year-old usually paints, basically…»

As Mary Margaret kept telling how her passion had become even more alive after her mother's death and how she'd wanted to honour her, Emma started to look around, noticing that not everyone kept their eyes on the artist, but someone dared throw glances at her.

She knew those expressions: diffidence, haughtiness, criticism, snobbery. None of them deemed her worthy of their world, as if they were aristocrats and she a common beggar. _They're not completely wrong_ , she said to herself, pursing her lips and, unconsciously, clutching Killian's arm even more tightly.

«Let them talk,» he repeated in her ear, pressing her lips so lightly on her temple that she wondered if she'd just imagined it.

Uncomfortable, she tried to not let her eyes wander any longer, keeping them on Mary Margaret and failing miserably when she met a definitely furious pair of eyes. Her legs even started to tremble and she felt as if the temperature in the room had dropped drastically.

Those light blue eyes belonged to a woman definitely older than her, maybe even twice her age, sharp face and high cheekbones, black hair tied in a high ponytail that hung on her shoulder in soft curls. She was wearing a black dress, probably a Calvin Klein, and, probably, she had vertiginous sandals on her feet.

Emma hated sandals, she didn't like them, they exposed her feet too much. She almost laughed at that stupid though, but she held back, digging her nails in Killian's jacket. _At this rate, you're going to ruin it,_ she said to herself, trying to loosen her grip without success.

«What is it?»

His whisper made her jump. Gulping, she turned her head towards Killian, signalling it was nothing. If there was something Emma had understood during that week, was that her husband could read her pretty well.

With a sigh, he placed a kiss on her head, as if, to him, her uneasiness was dictated by the crowd's glances. Despite the woman's icy glare still on her, Emma relaxed, laying her cheek against Killian's shoulder, as if it was a normal thing to do, as if _they_ were a normal couple.

Mary Margaret's speech ended with a long applause moments later, and Emma had to pull her arm out of under Killian's to clap her hands, too, a smile on her face. «She's pregnant, isn't she?»

The question surprised Killian, who lowered his gaze on her. «She told you?»

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. «No, it's the light she emanates, the dress, too, if you want, but mostly the fact that a nervous person would down a lot of glasses of wine to calm down and she didn't even touch one. Oh, and the fact that she has such frequent mood swings. Unless she's bipolar, of course.»

Killian chuckled, there was a different light in his eyes, more relaxed and conspiratorial, as if he was actually trying to spend a nice evening with his wife. «She can seem so indeed, David told me her mood swings are so sudden he sometimes thinks he's living with two completely different people.» After a moment, as they slowly proceeded towards the paintings, Killian asked: «Have you.. ever had… uh, any experience in the matter?»

Emma's eyebrows shot upwards. «Of course I haven't!» she hissed, looking with eyes wide in surprise at his stupid question. «God, did you read my file or not? Every candidate in my group must be virgin, although I never understood how Madame chooses in which category put the girls. Anyway, it happened that some of the girls got pregnant – mainly because they'd not been careful with the pill or because clients had been too imbeciles to use a condom, since Madame _always_ wants them to use condoms, she doesn't want sick girls.»

She didn't need to say out loud that some of the girls had caught something from their clients, Killian seemed to have already understood because he tightened the grip on her hand, softly caressing the back of it with his thumb.

«In most cases, the children are put into the foster system, sometimes they stay with their mothers who receive an income from the clients. Some have been lucky, so to speak: Madame has allowed them to retire after they had signed a non-disclosure agreement and now they're happy, somewhere, with their children.» _And maybe with someone who loves them_. «There have been abortions, someone said spontaneous, but I never believed that. Not everyone is fit to be a mother, and some hate the fact of carrying inside them for nine months the spawn of a man who used them just once and purely for his own pleasure.»

Killian stopped in front of a painting, studying the gracious brushes. Emma stole a glance at the canvas, surprisingly noticing that the theme was rather discordant with the impression she had of Mary Margaret.

«None of them happened to fall in love?»

Emma almost wanted to laugh just so she wouldn't start to cry. God, was he really that blind? Or he'd asked that because he hoped not to be a real monster and wanted to show her empathy? _He couldn't have possibly asked that because he hopes you'll fall in love with him, he made it clear, Emma_.

«We don't know what love is, Killian. Why do you think Madame chooses girls who live on the streets, with no family?» Her voice was harsh, more than she meant to be, but she couldn't hold back. She felt tears stinging her eyes, but she gulped and rapidly blinked to avoid crying.

Killian's expression was unreadable, confused and anguished, but there was no pity, no, which surprised her. There was understanding, the same one she'd read on his face when she'd walked away with Mary Margaret. And there was no disgust either.

 _This man is not real_. No man would care about her past, but Killian did. _He's not real_ , she repeated to herself, but she clutched his hand as if she wanted to reassure herself he actually was.

His hand made its way to her cheek, brushing it sweetly, and if they'd been alone, she would've probably started to cry. But they were in public, and she could clearly hear Madame's voice scolding her. She winced, as if the woman was right behind her, but she relaxed under Killian's caress.

In the background, under the low murmurs of the other guests, Emma heard an ensemble of strings start to play _A Thousand Years_. She almost laughed but just smiled, it was a song that suited Mary Margaret well.

«What's so funny?» Killian asked her under his breath, his forehead almost touching hers, his black hair falling on his eyes while her fingers trembled with desire to brush it away from his brow so she could discover if it was actually as silky as it looked. His breath tickled her lips, making her lose track of time and space.

«Just the song,» she admitted trying to hold back a smile and failing. «It suits Mary Margaret, that's all. And I like it. I like Christina Perri.»

«Mhm,» he mumbled, pulling slightly away to bring her in front the next painting and allow the others to admire the exhibition without witnessing their effusions. _What effusions are you talking about, you stupid? He acts like that towards you because he's in public_.

She wasn't sure whether she actually believed that or she wanted to, Killian seemed a pregnant woman whit his unexpected mood swings. If there was one thing he'd made undoubtedly clear, though, was that he would never love her.

During the evening the stopped to talk with many people but none of them was the woman in black. Emma had been introduced as Killian's wife and nobody actually asked her about her life, they were mostly snobbish, or asked her where to go to eat in New York. Fortunately, Madame had taught the girls well when it came to places suitable for élite.

Not everyone looked at her nicely, some scrutinized her from head to feet as if she was a gold digger – she wasn't, Madame was – but she didn't get agitated, relaxing under Killian's expert fingers on her bare back. His touch seemed causal, as if he wasn't conscious of doing it, but Emma knew better than wincing or show discomfort, than stop him or moving away. It was nice, in a way, relaxing, even.

She leaned against his shoulder, not tired, yet exhausted. The heels weren't helping, new shoes and long nights never did, and she wasn't Ruby. She found herself smiling at the thought of her friend, she would've probably stolen those shoes, red was her colour, after all.

«Are you tired?» Killian softly asked her, his lips pressed against her temple and his fingers constantly moving up and down her spine. A part of her, the most natural and primitive, wanted to know what his fingers could do in a less formal context. A shiver shot through her at the thought.

«Yeah, _Emma_ , are you tired? You're not already pregnant, are you?»

Next to her, Killian stiffened in a way that scared Emma, tension mixed with fear and anger radiating from him. The fingers on her back stopped and she felt his nail sink into her skin, making her wince.

The woman who'd spoken was the one in the black dress, icy eyes filled with disgust and mockery. «I don't believe our _dear_ mutual friend introduced us, _Emma_. My name's Milah Gold, it's a pleasure to know the girl who stole our Killian's heart.» She offered her the hand that wasn't holding the glass of champagne, noticing an enormous engagement ring and a wedding band.

The fingers almost plunged deep into her spine were a warning, Emma knew that. She squared her shoulders, pulling away from Killian enough to prove she wasn't laying against him as if he was a walking cane and she a cripple.

«Apparently, he never informed me of your existence because he didn't deem it important enough,» she said calmly, coating every word with pure and simple repulsion, maintaining a sugary smile on her face. Moistening her lips, she assumed a perplexed expression. «Besides, even if I actually were pregnant, it wouldn't concern you in the slightest.»

She tilted her head on the side, studying the figure of the forty-something woman, noticing with how little grace the dress fell on her, not to speak of the fact that she hadn't used nipple covers and these were now visible from under the thin fabric.

Milah seemed about to explode, blue in the face as she was; if she didn't have a heart attack in that moment Emma would've been surprised. «You little ungrateful bitch,» she hissed, lightings flashing from her eyes, «if it weren't for me you wouldn't even be here.»

Emma winced. Was she talking about Madame? No, all the contacts were secret, and Killian would've told her if one of them were there.

«Exactly, you wouldn't, because if I hadn't played with your _dear_ husband,» Milah continued, drawing near, her piercing perfume reaching Emma's nose, «he wouldn't have picked up the first whore from the street and made her look like an high class lady worthy of him. If it weren't for _me_ , he wouldn't have even looked at you, he would've had eyes only for _me_.» Her gaze flashed to the rubies and diamonds necklace for a moment, pure rage joined the hate Emma could read in her eyes, before it changed into derision. «Oh, I see he didn't even have the time to buy you a decent gift, he had to recycle a gift with my name on it. What a pity, you're not worthy even a bit of his money.»

Around them had gathered a few of the guests, every one of them ready to intervene if they decided to get physical. Killian was inert beside her, paralyzed by anger and fear, the fingers dug into her flesh would leave bruises for sure. From the corner of her eye, she saw David nearing her and clutching her wrist as if to hold her back, hiding their arms so Milah couldn't see.

«That's enough, Milah,» Mary Margaret said with a tone that could've frozen the blood of every human being that phrase was directed to. «Where is your husband? His invitation didn't consider a date.»

The feral smile didn't leave Milah's lips, just like her eyes didn't leave Emma's. «Oh, my sweet and naïve Mary Margaret. You know this isn't an exhibition fit for a man of his stature, but he didn't want to be rude so he sent me instead.»

«She he believes you to be so inferior that he sent you to an insignificant event like this?» Emma asked after she'd found her voice again. She shot her a smile. «Besides, Killian bought this collier in Paris, against my protests, saying it suited my skin and that he wouldn't hear any excuses. We're both stubborn and if I had tried to convince him to not buy it he would've done it anyway. He told me it was a wedding present, since he didn't give me a real engagement ring and it was the less he could do. I must confess, I have a weak spot for Al Zain's works, some are really amazing, and this is one of the best ones.» She sighed theatrically, clutching David's hand and Killian's arm tighter. «I don't see what you have to do in all this, I hope I've explained why this collier means so much to me and that you'd, _finally_ , leave us alone.»

Emma would've never expected the woman to do something so cliché like throwing champagne in her face, but, apparently, she was wrong. She did her best not to pounce on her, channelling her rage and clutching David's hand even more tighter, digging her nails into his skin.

Madame had taught them to be subjects of defamation, but that was nothing compared to her rage. Fortunately, she was still able to channel it.

Ignoring the droplets of wine dripping from her face, Emma smiled. «Wow,» she commented, «really, _really_ mature, Milah.»

«That's enough,» repeated Mary Margaret, stepping in before things could escalate. Emma felt a pang of regret inside her, she'd ruined Killian's friend exhibition. She'd ruined everything, as usual. She destroyed everything she touched, just like a radioactive refuse.

She paled, swaying a bit. David squeezed her hand, the pain bringing her back to herself for a moment, and she saw Milah being escorted towards the exit by two men of the security.

Mary Margaret clapped her hands, an apology smile on her face. «Forgive this unpleasant display, I beg you to go back to the exhibition and enjoy the rest of the evening.» Her eyes landed on Emma, not angry at all, they were regretful instead. No, she couldn't believe Mary Margaret was sorry, she had ruined her debut and had made her look bad in front of everyone. «Come with me, Emma, I'll help you cleaning up.» She reached out her hand, a sweet smile on her face.

For the first time since the fight, Emma lifted her gaze on Killian. His face was a pale mask of fear and rage and pain, his eyes still trained on the direction the men had disappeared with Milah.

Slowly, he lowered his gaze onto her, in his blue irises a mixture of distinct emotions. With his free hand he brought his pocket square to her face, drying her cheeks from the champagne, a flash of sadness crossed his face. «Let's go home,» he said abruptly, a sharp contrast with the expression on his face, bringing his other hand on her elbow and nodding to David and Mary Margaret.

«Killian, I'm so sorry. I hoped Gold would come himself or wouldn't come at all. You don't know how much I'm…» Mary Margaret breathed in deeply, wrapping her arms around her body. «You don't have to leave, you know.»

Killian threw her an irate look, although he wasn't mad at her. «I know, Mary Margaret, but I have to think about Emma.»

For a moment, Emma thought he was actually concerned about her, but he wasn't, he couldn't be. She didn't deserve people to be concerned about her, especially not when she'd risked blowing up years of work.

With a fluid movement, Killian took off his dress jacket and wrapped it around Emma, a way as any to hide something he was ashamed of. Tears stung her eyes but she did her best to banish them blinking rapidly. She'd already ruined everything, she didn't need an emotional breakdown, she was stronger than those feelings, she _didn't have_ to feel those feelings. That was the reason why Madame had chosen her to be a wife. A prostitute needed to feel something, to satisfy her partners, a wife had to feel what her husband wanted her to feel.

She had been wrong to talk back to Milah. She almost smiled with regret to herself, it was one of the usual situations that happened in foster houses, situations Emma had been through one too many times, every time as the victim, the last of which had forced her to run away and threw her in Madame's arms.

To her enormous surprise, first Mary Margaret and then David hugged her a bit awkwardly, but not less meaningful. Emma tried her best not to be overcome by tears, returning David's hug as if to thank him.

 _And I'm deceiving them_ , she thought bitterly.

«Mary Margaret, I…» she began to apologize, but the woman smiled softly at her, squeezing her hands.

«Shh, Emma. Now go home, take a hot bath and I suggest a hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon, it seems I can't have enough of it.»

Emma looked at her with wide eyes. «You like it, too?» she asked before she realized she had.

Mary Margaret looked at her, baffled. «Uh, yes, I do, since I became pregnant it's the only way I can drink it,» she admitted, blushing slightly. She seemed confused, though, even if Emma couldn't fathom why. «Killian, bring Emma home. And _don't_ down another bottle of rum, or I swear I'll come to Neverland House and reduce it to a pile of ruins. Screaming.»

Keeping his mouth in a firm, thin tense line, Killian nodded. Emma would've rather heard one of his jokes instead of leaving him wallowing in rage. Unfortunately, though, she didn't have the power of fulfilling every desire, especially not her own.

Refusing to meet the judging stares of the other guests, Emma kept her eyes on the floor, getting as close to Killian as possible despite the abyss between them.

Will came to pick them up with the car and, fortunately for them, most of the photographers were already gone. Even if they had taken a few photos of them, all they would've seen was an exhausted couple leaving the exhibition earlier than the others, maybe ready to enjoy a bit of that married life they had just discovered.

None of them talked during the ride, the only voice was Will's as he hummed along the lines of Pink Floyd's songs. Emma did her best to stay put in her seat, trying to disappear even more under Killian's jacket – and trying not to fall under the spell of his scent of rum, leather and spices.

Killian's leg seemed to have a mind of its own, shaking the entire car. From time to time, Emma dared to throw a few glances at him, her constantly moving fingers tapping on the rubies and diamonds of the necklace. She didn't have the courage to ask him if what Milah had told her was true, a part of her knew it was.

That night, finally, she had gotten the answer she was looking for: Milah was the reason Killian had bought her.

That brought even more questions to which Emma didn't want to give an answer yet, tired as she was. In those cases, being kept in the dark could mean troubles for their cover, not in regard to the evidences of her fake career, but to the truthfulness of their actions. Emma needed to know who she was dealing with, or at least she needed to know enough to not get Killian or Madame into troubles.

She'd been lucky Killian and David had held her back, or she would've run away just like she was used to do since she was little. Even if, truth to be told, she would've run _after_ punching her in the face.

Her hands still itched, and during those forty minutes her target wasn't Milah alone anymore, but Killian too. How could he hide her something so important? She didn't care about "hows" and "whys", just the fact that there was an ex-girlfriend, and a pretty psychopathic, too, with an attention-seeking behaviour who didn't seem to want to back off even if they were both married.

 _Christ, couldn't they solve their problems without bringing me into it? Fuck, what mess did I end up in, this time?_

Slowly, hoping her movements went unnoticed, she started to take off the bobby pins, undoing her braid and slipping the headband in her purse. She felt her head spin, now even more than before, suddenly feeling so light. However, she couldn't just go to sleep, she had to make things clear with Killian, at the cost of being sent back to Madame. She was still a virgin, after all, she could easily find another husband, and Madame would've been mad at Killian, too, and not only at her.

Will hadn't even turned off the engine that she had already stepped off the car, moving so fast in her heels as if they were sneakers or she was barefoot. Her mind didn't even stop thinking about it, too much focused on the rage she felt rising inside her second after second.

She entered the house from the garage, leaving the door open, the only audible sound the one of her heels against the marble. Without breaking her step, she went upstairs, she knew was behind her, and she found really stupid he didn't think of explaining the situation to her. She'd seen the fear in his eyes, even if she wasn't sure why he felt that way, but that didn't justify him at all.

«Emma, wait.» Killian's voice reached her the moment she put her foot on the floor.

«What?» Emma asked harshly, turning around to watch him climbing up the stairs. Killian stopped with a foot on a step and the other on the one below, stunned by the ire he saw in her eyes. «Do you have something else to tell me? More psychopath exes who don't leave you alone even if they're married?» She shook her head, her blonde hair now like silver under the moonbeams entering through the windows. «No, you know what? Don't tell me anything, just put them in front of me, make sure each one of them has a glass full of champagne to throw me in the face, or whatever suits them.»

«Emma…»

«Emma my ass, Killian,» she growled, bringing her hands up to unhook the collier. Once removed, she turned it around, noticing that on the plate behind the central stone there actually was Milah's name. And not just her name, but Killian's, too. She chuckled darkly, not amused at all. «You've been smart, you know? Buy me, use me to make her jealous… _bravo_ , Killian, truly remarkable. You could've even give me her clothes, unless my closet is already filled with her leftovers, of course.»

Hoping he wouldn't notice that her hand was trembling, she opened her fingers and let the necklace fall on the floor, not caring about the fact that she had surely chipped a few of the gems. She walked around it, nearing the top of the stairs, Killian still immobile on the steps, his eyes filled with apologies that didn't mean anything to Emma.

«You know, for a moment, tonight, I thought I was able of facing this marriage thing, I _hoped_ I could. A utopia, of course, confirmed by the fact that you not only lied to me, but you hid things from me, things that could've put us all into troubles. You can do whatever you want to me: punish me, starve me to death, whip me, imprison me in a bunker, send me back to Madame, I don't care, I haven't cared about myself in years, but if you decide on keeping me here and going on with this charade for I don't even know what reason, because you want to make that bitch pay or because you – and I can't fathom why – want her beck, do it, but don't you dare keep things like that from me. Never. Again.»

Turning around without adding more, Emma left, stepping on the necklace as she did. The creaking noise of shattering gems spread through the silence of Neverland House.

As she stepped even more into the darkness, Emma finally allowed the tears to fall.

 **So, yeah, this is the main reason Killian bought Emma. If you know me, you also know of my hate towards Milah and her son, so don't be surprised if I'll treat her not so nicely.**

 **I want to say this again: my focus, on this first part of the story is Emma, so the human trafficking won't be the center of this first part, but it will be dealt with, trust me. In this chapter you can see Emma's fire, and while it's still "Madame" related, she still got that fire that makes Emma our Emma. She's broken and lost, but if something is broken it means that it still works, and a lost girl can still find her way home, am I wrong?**

 **Emma might not be there yet, but she will, she will come tu understand what is right and what is wrong, she will understand her feelings, but it'll take time, and patience, because as of now she doesn't know what feelings are, she has a faint memory of them from when she was a child. But one thing is for sure, her love won't turn into a Stockholm Syndrome: before she will be able to love Killian, she will love herself.**

 **If you go on my tumblr tomorrow (I changed the url to darkcolinodonorgasm) you'll find Emma and Mary Margaret's dresses and accessories - I'm not awake enough to post them tonight, sorry.**

 **Thank you so much again for everything.**


	5. Chapter 5

**I've finally managed to translate this one and, once again, it's massive. I think I write too much per chapter, but I can't bring myself to stop and, while translating, I think I couldn't cut anything. Of course I cut a few things, but just some sentences here and there. Anyway, I've finally finished my exams and now I'm on with my thesis - and hopefully a summer job so I can pay the convention in Milan.**

 **This chapter was supposed to go up yesterday but Ao3 didn't want me to update, apparently.**

 **Thank you all for the favourites, kudos, reviews, comments and follows, you are so kind and I'm really touched by every word you send my way and I really can't thank you enough. I know I'm not perfect, but I do my best. I might have another fic coming your way, but that won't distract me from this fic, it's too important for me.**

 **Now, I'm sorry for any mistakes and, well, enjoy :)**

«So,» Mary Margaret started, hesitant, «has the storm passed?»

It'd been four days since the Milah's incident, and neither Killian or Emma had talked to each other since, him too much occupied drowning himself in rum and her ready to punch him the moment she saw him.

In the span of those four days they'd bumped into each other twice, both times in the kitchen, and after that had started to stay faithful to New York's time zone. That way, also thanks to the vastness of Neverland House, she was sure not to meet Killian.

That afternoon, Mary Margaret had shown up unexpectedly at the door. Emma had been alone, Killian had left to go somewhere and, obviously, he'd left only a note on the kitchen table without specify where he went. Emma had broadly ignored the red rose next to it, throwing the note in the trash and leaving the flower where it was, without moving it an inch. If he thought a gesture like that could buy her – _again_ \- he was definitely wrong.

Emma knew she shouldn't act like that, that she should've bent her head and let him mistreat her as much as he wanted; yet there was something in her that had made her burst, something that had told her those free insults, those lies, were _too much_.

Maybe it was because she was away from Madame's gaze, maybe because in a way she was free, maybe because with Killian she felt like she could take those liberties, but to be honest she didn't know either, all she knew was that he hadn't put her on a flight for New York. That was enough for her, for now.

She sighed, intertwining her fingers around the mug of hot chocolate, the cinnamon had already started to sink into the whipped cream as Mary Margaret kept stirring her own. «We're like two airplanes in New York during a blizzard,» Emma murmured feeling the warmth burning her through the ceramic.

Mary Margaret moved uncomfortably on the chair, her long hair tied in a braid that fell on her back and a beige woollen corded sweater that gave her a regal air. For her part, Emma was wearing leggings and a hooded sweatshirt, big enough that if she curled up into a ball it could've contained her whole body. That had been one of her last purchases in Drogheda, the green shamrock almost blended with the blue of the fabric.

«She isn't how you pictured her, is she?»

 _I didn't think she existed at all, you mean_. She held back a dark laugh and shook her head. «You mean such a bitch?» She conceded herself a smile. «Actually, I'd preferred not having an idea at all, maybe because I hoped I would never meet her.» She almost snorted at the fool word she'd used. _Hope_. She had lost it all. «But, alas, fortune has never smiled at me. I knew she wasn't the most pleasant of the people at this world, I've never pushed Killian that much to tell me about how she really was but…»

She left the sentence hanging as if Mary Margaret had to draw the conclusions herself, but Emma had already found the reason why Killian had never old her about Milah. It was easy for her, he already knew everything about her – even if he didn't seem to have looked at her file at all – and knew all her secrets, and even if she didn't find it easy to talk about it, he _knew_.

Probably, if they'd already met in Las Vegas, she too would have struggled to talk about her past, about the fact that she was an orphan and that her parents had abandoned her a few hours after her birth. She probably wouldn't have even talked about it, she would've just avoided it, or she might have fallen for his nice words and the fact that his own eyes assumed the same expression she saw every day in the mirror.

If everything they'd invented had actually happened, after a long night of passion, if Emma had stayed with him, they would've spent days talking, her trying to tell him that everyone abandoned her and him reassuring her he would never do that. They would've traded dark pasts, alternating words and sex that each time assumed a deeper meaning.

«I'm so sorry, Emma, I should've told security not to let her in, but I was thinking about three-thousands things at the same time and…»

Emma couldn't believe her ears. «You're sorry?» she asked baffled. «Mary Margaret, I've ruined your exhibition. Hadn't it been for me now the newspapers would be talking only about you and not about crappy gossip. I don't even know why you're here.» _Why you stayed despite the fact that I ruined everything as I usually do_.

Mary Margaret clutched her wrist. «Oh, _Emma_ ,» she exclaimed with misty eyes with no trace of anger in it, «you don't have to blame yourself for faults not your own! The exhibition went perfectly anyways, there would've still been gossips, Killian and Milah in the same room were an assured fireworks show.» She stopped for a moment, a thoughtful expression on her face. «Although, I like fireworks, so I shouldn't compare those two to them. Maybe an atomic bomb, yeah, that's it, even if it's Killian the only victim and the one paying the consequences.»

A small part of Emma almost felt bad for him, even if she wasn't an expert on the matter and he certainly hadn't clarified all the details, it was as clear as the sun that that woman had broken his heart and he was still picking up the pieces. The other night Milah had just made the few pieces he'd managed to pick up fall from his arms and had stepped on them, shattering them even more.

She breathed in deeply, despite that little pride she had found out she had, Emma must face Killian one day or another. Even if she didn't know how to confront him, she could always listen to him. She happened to do the same with Ruby, she just held her in her harms and listened her rambling about the nightmares that woke her up in the middle of the night. She wondered if Killian too had nightmares then shook her head, unlike Ruby, Killian hadn't gone to her to seek comfort. However, she could go to him and offer him a pair of ears.

«I'm a horrible person, am I not?»

«Oh, no, _no_ , Emma, you are not a horrible person.» Mary Margaret smiled, squeezing her wrist one last time before reaching again for the mug of hot chocolate. «You and Killian are very much alike, if something hurts you, you both lick your wounds all alone, isolating yourself from everything and everyone, even from each other. I understand he's hurt, I've seen him in his worst state and I hope I won't ever again, but it's also true that it's been hard for you, too, felling insulted and treated like that in front of lots of people must have been hard.» After a sip, Mary Margaret winked. «I admire you, you know? You stood your ground like a pro, I would've shot an arrow right between her eyes.»

Hearing those words, Emma laughed for the first time in days, since she'd received Ruby's call. Tears even filled her eyes as her laugh turned from amused to hysterical. She'd thought the tears had ended the night of the exhibition but evidently she was wrong.

Mary Margaret stood from her chair and sat down beside Emma on the bench, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and hugging her. «I'm sorry you have to suffer like this, no newlyweds should go through moments of crisis like this, especially not because of that witch.»

Emma wiped her eyes, slightly breathless. «I don't even know why she was so sure the collier was hers, I'll never have the guts to wear it anymore.» _Especially because it's beyond repair, probably, but this Mary Margaret needn't to know_.

«Yeah, I can imagine that. I wouldn't ever wear any jewel David's ex came to say it's hers and has her name on it.» Mary Margaret shook her head. «Fortunately, Kathryn has nothing to do with Milah and she's happily married.»

That made Emma's ears perk up. «I still wonder why, even though she's married, she claims to hold power over Killian's life. She's chosen her husband, whoever he is, why make Killian suffer even more?» If there was someone that could explain it all without withholding information, that was Mary Margaret. Of course, Emma didn't like to use her like that, but she couldn't continue to be kept in the dark.

«Well, the fact that _she_ was married didn't stop Killian to sleep with her and fall in love with her, if you can call it love, of course. Naivety, maybe.»

 _Oh_. Emma brought the mug to her lips as she absorbed that last information. So Killian wanted to make Milah pay for choosing her husband instead of him. She could understand that, she really could, but something didn't add up: why did she keep treating him like he was her property but wanted to stay with her husband?

Of course, if that was the reaction Killian had wanted, he'd been successful in getting it, even if she didn't know a thing about his plans. _He could simply say: hey, I need to make the girl I was with before jealous, but said girl is married, so the moment she'll understand she made a mistake, she'll come running back to me_. Simple, wasn't it? Evidently not.

«Liam had warned him, of course, and I did, too, I've known her longer than him, but as you well know Killian is as stubborn as a mule, you couldn't make him change his mind no matter what» Mary Margaret sighed still rubbing Emma's back.

 _Liam? Who's this?_ Emma wore a weak smile. «Yeah, we're both stubborn, it seems,» she conceded, laughing lightly. Once upon a time she'd been _really_ stubborn, and she still was, at least a bit, she'd demonstrated it the other night. She bent her head, looking down at her steaming hot chocolate. «I don't know what to do to have Killian back,» she admitted, and the truth hit her in full force: she _wanted_ Killian, wanted that boy as lost as she was, she wanted to be there for him and help him pick up the pieces of his heart.

«Uhm,» Mary Margaret mumbled, «tonight at Liam's pub there's karaoke night, you should come, you know, an evening of pure fun, trying to have so fun. I guess… I guess with you not having anyone here you don't get the chance to go out much, and David and I will be there, so… Yeah, well, the both of you could come, right?»

Emma widened her eyes. She _couldn't_ accept, it was Killian the one making the decisions. She was about to open her mouth to kindly decline or to postpone her decision when Killian came through the kitchen door, hair ruffled that stuck up in every direction, eyes circled by dark circles and pyjama pants that hung dangerously low on his hips and a t-shirt that had definitely seen better days.

Despite herself, Emma felt her mouth dry and had to drink several sips of chocolate to go back down on earth, burning her tongue.

«Oh,» he said simply, looking at the two girls with dim eyes that seemed to linger a bit too much on Emma. «Sorry for the interruption.»

He was about to go away when Mary Margaret stopped him. «You are free tonight, right?»

Killian looked her friends with furred eyebrows, casting a short glance towards Emma, as if to ask her for an explanation, but she just averted her eyes. «Uhm, yes, I think so.»

Mary Margaret smiled. «Good then, you and Emma will enjoy a good evening of fun with me and David at Liam's.»

Out of the corner of her eyes, Emma saw her husband tense like a violin string. _Shit, this isn't good at all_. She tightened her grip around the mug, he probably thought it was her fault, that she'd organized something behind her back. In that moment, a drop of rum in her chocolate wouldn't have hurt at all.

«Oh, alright then. After dinner? Or are we eating something there?» Killian asked, hesitant, always trying to catch Emma's gaze.

«We're going to eat there, absolutely! I would never deny one of your brother's cheeseburgers, especially one with bacon and lots and lots of cheese,» Mary Margaret replied, her eyes lit with pure hunger. Emma smiled.

«Well, then, we can drive you and meet David there.» Killian nodded towards her stomach. «Unless you needed to rest, you know one of the rooms is always available for you.»

Emma was almost surprised by his words. She knew Killian had a soft side, even if she'd never experienced it first-hand. He must really care about Mary Margaret given how he acted towards her, and a part of her brain couldn't stop herself from asking how he would've acted if _she_ was the pregnant one. Something that would never happen, of course, unless he decided to have a child.

Mary Margaret smiled widely. «Thank you so much. Now, though, shoo! Emma and I have to gossip, you go back to your paintings.»

«Aye, aye, Captain,» Killian chuckled, marvelling Emma with his dimples as he poured himself a cup of coffee and went back to where he came from.

Emma waited to hear his bare footfalls vanish in the distance before releasing the breath she didn't know she was holding.

«Well,» Mary Margaret commented, sitting back on the chair beside Emma, «you wasn't kidding when you said you two weren't talking at all.»

«Yeah… I trust him, but I've been let down many times in my life and Killian _knows_ that. I'm… I'm just scared he'll leave, too, just everyone else does. Everybody leaves, and if he left too… I don't know if I could stand it.»

The truth behind those words hit her like a punch. For years her only constant had been Ruby and she'd abandoned her – against her will, of course, but that didn't change the fact that she'd left – and now her new family, if you could call it that, was Killian.

She didn't love him or something like that, it was ridiculous, since she didn't even know what love was, but she knew that if he'd left she would've gone back to Madame, she would've been lost once again. She might have found Ruby again, but it soon would lead to another separation.

Emma didn't notice she was crying until Mary Margaret handed her a handkerchief. «I'm sure Killian won't leave you. I can see how he looks at you, how he's just looked at you, like he wanted to lay the whole world at your feet just for you to look at him.»

Emma felt her heart break at those words. Was it possible that, despite the fact he didn't know anything about her – despite the fact she wasn't lovable – he felt something for her something that wasn't pity but deeper? No, it couldn't be.

Without answering Mary Margaret, she finished her chocolate. «Did your paintings sell well? Do you have a few offers already?»

 _Subtle, Emma_. During her first week in Drogheda, Emma had researched everything about the world of painters and their exhibitions, just so she wouldn't make a fool of herself in case she was wrong. Of course, that wasn't _her_ world, but she could bring herself not to look like one.

Despite knowing that was one way to change the subject, Mary Margaret squared her shoulders and nodded, enthusiastic. «Oh, yes, definitely, even if, I must admit it, I was really scared. I've never painted something so aggressive, but evidently my fears were unfounded.»

«I admit that at first I would've never connected you to those paintings,» Emma laughed, «in some there was something dark and at the same time enticing.»

Mary Margaret laughed, bringing a hand to her mouth. «Killian said the same, you know? He told me I was too innocent to be the artist. Then I gave him an elbow in the ribs and left him to go through hell.»

Emma couldn't help but laugh herself. She was already imagining Killian bent over because of the pain for offending his friend. «Yeah, sometimes he doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut and this leads him into trouble.» _And even when he does, but let's not kill the mood_.

«Killian _rarely_ uses the brain-to-mouth filter,» Mary Margaret agreed.

«At what hour do you think we need to leave?» Emma asked in the umpteenth, desperate tentative to change topic because everything seemed to go back to Killian, and until they had to leave she didn't want to think about him.

Mary Margaret looked at the clock on the wall. «Uhm, I'd say around half past six will be good, we can easily walk there anyways,» she said with a shrug, as if it was obvious. And it should've been if Killian had ever brought her there.

Once again, Emma asked herself who this Liam was. She'd never heard that name until today but she sensed he was someone important for Killian. She gritted her teeth, irritated, once again he'd kept something important from her.

Wearing another of her fake smiles, even if way more true than the ones she'd worn before, Emma looked at Mary Margaret. «Do you want another hot chocolate?»

* * *

The second hot chocolate led to a third but, between Mary Margaret, who was now eating for two and, after all, was _craving_ it, and herself, who'd drunk lots of it since she had been at Madame's, Emma didn't feel guilty at all.

They'd made small talks and organized a day at the spa – she would've _absolutely_ talked to Killian about it, but she also knew that no one, not even him, could say no to Mary Margaret – and avoided the topic "husbands".

To avoid uncomfortable questions about the fact that she and Killian weren't sleeping together, Emma had said that she would've just taken five minutes to change. Of course, she could've said their fight had been so heavy that had forced her to leave their bedroom, even if Killian was probably sleeping in his study, after all Emma didn't know his habits, she didn't know if when Milah was angry with him she threw him out or if she just went back to her husband.

She banished the thought, thinking that she could've said nothing at all even if Mary Margaret seemed the type of woman who stuck her nose everywhere, although in a completely innocent way.

In fact, Emma had actually taken five minutes, opting for something really casual: a black set of underwear with lacy panties and a strapless bra so it would disappear under the black off-the-shoulder blouse, a Marchesa piece she had never had the chance of wearing, semi-transparent and lace-trimmed that topped a pair of dark of blue-jeans and black suede knee-high boots.

She wasn't wearing the red wolf, opting for a black velvet choker with a jewelled half-moon hanging from it. On her fingers, other than the wedding ring she'd learned to ignore until when she looked at it, she wore three more rings that matched her outfit – and her mood.

Grabbing a black purse and wearing the Burberry coat, she headed back towards the kitchen, her hair loose on her shoulders that tickled her cheeks. She had been light with her make-up, making sure to cover the bags under her eyes, though.

Before she could go downstairs – the house was an actual maze, she still wondered how she managed not to get lost – she crossed paths with Killian.

He had changed his clothes, now wearing a blue shirt with the first two buttons undone – because he wasn't cold and had the primal need to show his chest hair – black jeans that Emma noticed hugged divinely his ass and a black leather jacket. Evidently, Killian Jones could wear those clothes even at the North Pole.

Pressing her lips into a thin line, Emma crossed her arms over her chest, meeting his eyes for the first time in four days with a challenging look. «Should I know something else, dear? Like, for example, who is this Liam and, perhaps, if we'll meet your ex girlfriend, _again_? Shall I go change and wear my raincoat, you know, in case she decides to throw an entire barrel of beer at me, this time.»

She saw him breathe in deeply, as if to calm himself down, his head bowed as if he was accepting her frustration. «Liam is my older brother, he's almost thirty and owns the pub since he was honourably discharged from the Royal Navy two years ago, since our mother was English. Concerning other ex girlfriends, I don't have any and… she won't be there, unless she want Liam to kill her on sight.»

Emma nodded slowly, she was starting to like this Liam, even she was sure he would give her a hard time. Even if she didn't have any siblings, if their lives had been normal, she would've done the same in the case Ruby had found a boyfriend, and she knew Ruby would've done the same for her.

Without saying another word but with a sweet smile on her face at the thought of Ruby, she went downstairs and went back to Mary Margaret, finding her sitting on the bench playing at Candy Crush.

«Bloody jello,» the woman was mumbling beneath her breath, ready to throw her phone against the wall. The fact that her mood changed every other second wasn't helping that poor smartphone.

«I hate the liquorices,» Killian agreed, a few steps behind Emma, «those bloody things undermine all your efforts.»

«And those cupcakes? You need three thousands moves to make them disappear,» Mary Margaret continued, standing up and wearing the light blue coat she had laid on the back of the chair.

In spite of herself, Emma found herself smiling in front of that exchange, it was something so normal it could make her think her life had only been a bad dream. Unfortunately, though, it wasn't, and she still had to play a part.

Leaving the two talking about the pros and cons of the game, Emma followed silently next to Mary Margaret; she was sure that the farther she stayed from him, the better it was for everyone.

This, though, gave her time to think.

She'd been unfair to Killian, she had to admit that, and maybe it was the fact that he knew everything about her without giving her the time to explain her emotions, although she didn't know what she felt either, but she still had felt entitled to humiliate him. She had been wrong, and she knew that, even if she didn't know why he hadn't punished her yet. Not that she wanted to be whipped in the painful and unpleasant way or to be left starving, absolutely not. The problem, if anything, was that she couldn't understand why Killian didn't seem to have any intention of punish her insubordination.

Emma was careful not to take his reaction for granted, she knew from experience that who absorbed everything for too long had the worst of rage explosions. Maybe Killian was like those people, he too would wait before taking it on her, or maybe he would never do it.

Hoping he wouldn't was useless anyways, things never went well for too long. Well, things didn't ever run smooth for her at all.

She resolved to talk to him if not tonight when they'd be back at Neverland House, then tomorrow. However, she wasn't sure she could do it. Of course, apparently avoiding each other seemed to have some kind of effect on Killian, but he didn't seem keen on doing something about it. Maybe it was also because Emma was evasive, every time she heard footsteps she rushed into the closest room and locked herself inside.

She sighed, looking at Killian out of the corner of her eye, his hair dishevelled by the wind and the cheeks red for the cold. He seemed almost innocent and carefree with his blue eyes full of life and light, just like Emma always wanted to see them.

Yes, she decided, she would give Killian the chance to apologize and she would apologize herself for how she'd treated him.

Maybe… maybe their relationship could still be based on friendship, or something similar. Emma hoped she wasn't wrong.

It wasn't a long walk 'til the center of Drogheda, just twenty minutes or so, Emma had travelled that road alone several times after she'd asked Killian for permission and directions. It was strange for her, but after her outburst she felt freer to do what she wanted. Yeah, it was a nice illusion.

«So, Emma, have you already been at the Jolly Roger?» Mary Margaret asked her, tearing her away from her thoughts.

«Uh, no, not yet,» she admitted hunching her shoulders, maybe hoping she would sink even more into her coat.

Fortunately, Mary Margaret didn't seem so much surprised. «You'll like it, I'm sure. I'm not sure about the music, after all it's karaoke night and it's Friday.»

«Do I have to worry and secure my eardrums?»

Killian chuckled. «If Scarlet is not there, I wouldn't worry. But some schoolboys could decide to drink until the point they'll vomit on stage.» Emma's disgusted face made him laugh even more, and he looked more beautiful to her.

«Oi, I'm sorry if I'd rather not see teenagers throw up their souls every,» Emma retorted lifting her chin.

«I agree with Emma, it's not a nice sight, and if I'm the one to talk about throwing up…» Mary Margaret added with a gesture towards her stomach.

«Speaking of which, when should you give birth to the sprog?» Killian asked, a wide smile on his lips.

It was strange, Emma knew what kind of men went to Madame, men who didn't care anything about whom they bought, men who could have everything and wanted even more, drowning in money and champagne and the best cut drugs. Whores, escorts, fake wives, Madame offered more than that, things that surely sold like hot cakes, but the girls weren't less desirable, especially the first two kinds: not many men wanted to deal with the third kind because they already had one, and they didn't need younger wives when they had whores at their disposal.

«At the beginning of July you'll become uncle Killy,» Mary Margaret smirked, elbowing him in the side. «Oh, how much I'll love to make fun of you.»

Killian made a strange face, not disgusted, just pretending to be afraid. «Don't you dare, Snow, or neither Liam and David will ever stop calling me that.»

She arched an eyebrow, ironic. «And don't you think this is the exact reason why I'll call you that until the end of my days?» Mary Margaret assumed an almost haughty expression, lifting her chin challengingly and placing her hands on her lap. «Besides, it's the baby who's saying to me to call you that. Don't you dare mess with the baby, Killian.

«Yeah, don't mess with the baby, _Killy_ ,» Emma couldn't stop herself from voicing that phrase. It seemed so easy to be in tune with him, as if their marriage was real. Except for the fact that it wasn't.

She felt herself blush, but kept looking forwards, a weak smile on her face as they walked through the streets of Drogheda.

She heard him muttering something under his breath, his accent thicker than ever. If she'd been next to him she would've reached out and given him a kiss on the cheek. She shook her head, she couldn't allow herself that kind of initiatives, she shouldn't even think about them.

«Come on, at least when you'll have children of your own you won't have to worry about how they'll call you,» Mary Margaret said with an innocent smile.

Emma and Killian almost had the same reaction: both choked on the air they were breathing and stiffened, but it was Emma who felt a pang of dread due to the fact that she couldn't be a mother.

How could she? She basically was a prostitute, and between her and Killian there was no bond, especially not one of love. She couldn't just get pregnant and give love to a child. She couldn't because she didn't know what love was.

She breathed in deeply trying to calm herself down and to show how the topic discomforted her. She should've imagined it, she should've imagined that Mary Margaret would try to be the goddess of fertility.

«Anyways,» Mary Margaret said after an awkward silence, «we're here.»

The Jolly Roger was a full Irish-style pub with stone walls decorated with various sea-themed paintings and other pirate-related items and a ceiling made of thick wooden beams from which hung fishnets. In front of the long counter, high barstools were almost all filled with clients ready to get drunk like crazy.

«Isn't the Jolly Roger Captain Hook's boat?» Emma asked frowning slightly, noticing pirate vessels models inside cases hung on the walls and even a black flag with skull and crossbones behind the counter between the liquor-filled shelves, brands Emma knew so well and had tasted at least once in her life during Madame's lessons.

Killian looked at her with wide eyes. «The Jolly isn't a boat, _she_ 's a _ship_ ,» he explained lifting his chin and Emma couldn't help but imagine him with glasses and acting like a professor. _And I could find a schoolgirl attire… Emma, no!_

She conceded herself a tight smile, even in her voice there was actual glee. «I beg your pardon, Captain.»

Killian rolled his eyes, without stopping smiling. «Besides, Jolly Roger is the skull with the crossbones,» he continued searching the pub for something. «David's over there. Emma, come with me, please.»

He was holding out his hand to her, he wanted to touch her after days. She lowered her gaze on her own hand, her fingers trembling slightly.

Inhaling deeply and forcing a smile, Emma took his hand, instantly feeling an electric shock run through her arm and end up in places of her body she thought didn't even exist.

He dragged her towards the counter, intertwining his fingers to hers as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Instead, it was a new sensation and, despite everything, even pleasant, capable of making her feel butterflies in her stomach. God, she was pathetic.

«Smile, love, soon you'll know the rest of the family,» he said bending towards her, his breath hot against her hear made her shiver.

She chastised herself at the thought, that was an order coming from the client, not the man. She was trained to do those things, yet why did it hurt like that? Instinctively, she tightened her grip on Killian's hand and he squeezed her back, as if he wanted to reassure her.

They approached a man with broad shoulders, short brown hair, lighter than Killian's, but the same eyes as his brother's that were now dancing over the glasses he was shuffling with expert hands.

Liam Jones was more muscular than his brother, definitely because of his past as a navy man, not that Killian wasn't well-built, not at all, Emma had seen several times his toned biceps flex under his t-shirts and a part of her longed to see his other muscles.

The two Joneses weren't so much similar, but Emma could see the likeness in the way they moved, after all she was taught to take advantage of everything that surrounded her to feel at ease and to better understand her clients so to perfectly satisfy them.

«Look what the cat dragged in! Little brother, you're finally showing in your face in here.»

Emma had to bit her lips to hold back a laugh as Killian rolled his eyes, evidently annoyed by the appellative.

«It's younger brother,» Killian reminded Liam, «and I thought you wanted to make a good impression in front of your sister-in-law.»

Liam almost dropped the glass he was holding as he lifted his gaze onto Emma. In response, she frowned slightly, caught off guard by the sudden fear she saw in his eyes. When he finally focused his eyes on her, Liam seemed to relax, even if he still was visibly confused.

 _Please,_ please _, tell me Killian told him_ , Emma prayed silently, digging instinctively her nails into Killian's hand. If he'd not said anything to his own brother, she would've butchered him alive and goodbye good intentions of peace.

«You must be Emma,» Liam said, finishing whatever he was preparing and drying his hands on a rag before reaching out one big and callous hand. «I must admit, I would've never thought my brother could be so lucky and bewitch the heart of such a beautiful creature.»

Emma squeezed his hand but he brought it to his lips, looking at her from under his lashes with his blue eyes and that charm that seemed to belong just to the Joneses. She felt herself blush but she knew that was a test, and that she needed to be as honest as possible. «Actually, I don't know why he decided to offer me a coffee after I dumped one on his white shirt,» she said blushing. _God, Emma, you couldn't find something less cliché, could you?_

Killian lifter they joined hands and kissed the back of hers. «I must say you tended my wounds perfectly,» he added with malice, making Emma blush even more. «Besides, it was simply good form, love. You even wanted to buy me a new shirt, even if now I believe you just wanted to see me naked.»

With her hand now free from Liam's, she slapped Killian playfully on the arm, maybe a bit too hard because she saw him wince. «Hey! It's not true, I was simply trying to be nice!»

«Oh, I don't doubt it,» Killian commented, lifting his gaze on his brother who kept looking at them with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyebrows arched. «Though, I have to admit, she won me over not because she spilled it on me by mistake, but because she spilled it over my head while I tried to defend her from a bloody wanker with ungentlemanly intentions.»

«Sorry, babe, but the only one who saves me is me,» Emma said with a wide smile, patting him lovingly on the shoulder. It was a lie, because nobody had ever saved her, and she wasn't able to do so on her own.

Liam burst out laughing. «Why, little brother, what were your intentions?» He seemed to believe their story, which was definitely a good thing.

«Actually,» Killian said, «after having seen how she'd knocked out that guy I asked her to drink something with me to express my admiration, and maybe to ask for her number. You should've seen her, Liam, when she was finished with him she still had her coffee in hand.»

Emma shrugged. «When you live in foster homes you either learn how to defend yourself or you succumb.»

It was true, she hadn't learned how to defend herself during the lessons at Madame's, there she'd maybe learned how to do it with more grace, but in foster homes she'd learned not to surrender and to reply with fists instead of words.

Killian drawn her towards him and pressed his lips on her temple in a completely natural way it made her believe that, somehow, it was all real and not part of some play.

Liam cleared his throat, bringing their attention back on him. «I'm glad to meet you, love, I hope you'll be able to knock some sense into my little brother's head. Now, though, shoo you children, I need to work. I'll see you later, Emma, I need to know everything about how you can stand him.»

Emma felt like it was a threat, and it was. «And I'm counting on you to tell me every embarrassing story from when Killian was a baby.»

Killian let out a frustrated moan. «I knew you would team up against me,» he grumbled, pouting.

Emma reached out a hand to ruffle his hair, pushing them away from his eyes with affection. «I'm sorry, babe,» she apologized, kissing him sweetly on the cheek, maybe too much close to his mouth.

«We'll be with David and Mary Margaret, shall we wait for you later?» Killian asked, circling Emma's waist with one arm.

«If I'll still have my ears working, I'll offer you the last beer of the evening.»

With a last smile, the two of them headed towards the Nolans. «A coffee? Seriously?» Killian asked her in a low voice but high enough to make himself hear over the loud music, tickling her skin with his breath.

She scowled at him. «Have you ever thought of creating an _actual_ story?» she hissed through her teeth, digging her fingers into his flesh. She'd probably end up fleshing him with her own nails, but it wasn't her fault if he was an idiot.

«You're right,» he conceded, caressing her temple with his lips, as light as butterflies' wings. «It wasn't a bad idea, though. I'm a gentleman, after all, and Liam would never doubt that.»

She raised her eyebrows, looking at him with a smirk. «Ah, so _now_ you're a gentleman?»

«I'm always a gentleman,» Killian replied with a wink.

Emma was about to reply with a saucy remark when David's voice interrupted her before she could open her mouth. «Here you are!»

«Hey, Dave, you're still in one piece?» Killian joked, earning himself a slap on the arm from Mary Margaret. He rolled his eyes. «My apologies, love, force of habit.»

The woman seemed satisfied with his response because she gestured Emma to sit next to her on a wooden bench. Emma took off her coat, immediately feeling Killian's gaze on her. She knew she was a little bit too undressed, and maybe she should've put on a less-revealing sweater, but part of her want to make Killian pay – or, simply enough, she just wanted to feel his fingers on her skin once again.

«So, Emma,» David began, pretending he didn't hear Killian, who had taken off his leather jacket and sat down on a chair in front of Emma, «baptism of fire: what do you want to eat?»

He was holding out to her a menu she took her time to read. Since she was used to delicate meals, Emma had seen junk food only during her life in foster homes, and even then she didn't eat much of it either. Sometimes the girls were allowed some snacks but they still had to keep in shape and maintain a perfect figure.

She studied attentively every food listed on it under their inquiring gazes. She almost felt under examination, but nothing compared to Madame's evaluations, no, that woman made her shiver even thinking about her.

The best things she'd ever eaten in her life were, surprisingly, highly ironic and depressing, the grilled cheese and the onion rings Madame had offered her after founding her.

That night, though, she wanted to be bold. «Alright, Devilishly Delicious for me.»

Killian bit his lower lip but a smile had already formed on his face, followed by a laugh. Even Mary Margaret and David burst out laughing, earning confused looks from Emma.

«Apologies, love,» Killian said, lit up by a strange light as he let himself go to that joyful laugh. He seemed a different man.

«I can't believe you actually chose that one,» David chuckled, drying the tears that had formed on the corners of his eyes. «That's Killian's burger.»

Emma arched a brow, looking at her husband. He shrugged, his cheeks slightly pink. «Some of the burgers and the cocktails here are my idea. And the Devilishly Delicious is my favourite. After all, I am devilishly handsome.»

Emma shook her head, fighting a smile. «Nope, not gonna happen, I won't ever call you that,» she warned him, almost tempted to stick out her tongue. «Besides, I like spicy things.»

Killian's eyebrow shot up, incredibly high, pure malice in his eyes. «Oh, it'll be spicy enough.»

That promise made shivers run down her spine. «I hope so,» she replied looking at him from under her eyelashes; flirting was one of the basic lessons, and while Ruby was the first of the class, Emma had always been hopeless , too much harsh or fearful. With Killian, though, flirting was like drinking a glass of water. The only problem was trying not to choke.

The two were called to order by David's cough, who was looking at them warningly. «Children, behave,» he said as if they actually were children.

Unable to resist, Emma also ordered onion rings to split with the others. Obviously.

Killian too had ordered a Devilishly Delicious, he couldn't back down from a challenge, after all, not against his own wife.

After their beers – in pints, of course – and the onion rings Emma didn't think twice about digging in arrived, they finally noticed the music, if you could even call it music.

«These guys never took a singing lesson,» David commented massaging his temples.

«These guys don't take lessons at all, and they surely didn't attend catholic school,» Killian smirked shaking his head, amused.

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes. «I still wonder why Liam allows these schoolboys to come here every Friday night.» Emma bit back a smile, apparently the woman had fully jumped into mother hen mode.

«You miss most of the fun here,» Emma said hopping into the conversation with another cliché she'd seen happened in the bars, but only from the outside, «and this coming from someone who's just reached the legal age to drink just a few months ago. Or, at least, it's the legal age in America.» She added a wink to the sentence, earning the chuckles of the others.

«Oh, right, you Americans are more responsible,» David said ironically, shaking his head.

«Yeah, totally, so much responsible we give cars to sixteen year olds,» Emma grumbled drinking her beer, «and they _do_ drink.»

«You're right,» David agreed, «and I've seen many a car crushed because of foolish teenagers.»

Emma titled her head, she still didn't know what David's job was, but her two theories were either doctor or policeman, even though, after Killian's joke, it was probably the latter.

«Though it's funny seeing them trying to argue with the bouncers, some create absurd excuses,» Emma laughed shaking her head. She'd seen just a little of the outside world, but from that little she'd understood that the world seemed like a series of clichés everyone complained about. «One claimed to be Michael Jackson reincarnated, but when he started to sing _Bad_ , well, all I can say is that those guys,» she said nodding her head towards the stage on which two teenagers were trying to ruin even more a Taylor Swift's song, «are even better.»

«And you can do better?» David asked her, challengingly.

She felt caught by surprise, her file didn't contemplate her singing talent although it was listed. She forced herself not to look at Killian. «No, I could never, I've already endured too many humiliations on my birthday, thank you very much.»

«Oh, come on, you could never be worse than them!» Mary Margaret laughed, sipping her coke.

«Well, maybe not worse,» Emma admitted, shrugging, «but don't you think I'm a perfect singer. Besides, put me on there and you'll see me run like hell.»

Killian's hand found Emma's on the table and squeezed it. She did her best not to wince, it still was strange feeling his skin upon hers and, it didn't matter how much she acted cordial towards him, it didn't mean she wasn't still angry with him.

«Now I'm curious, though,» David smirked, «now I really want to hear you sing.»

«Oh, no, my lisp are sealed, you won't get a note out of me,» Emma warned him, pointing a finger at him.

«We'll see,» he winked at her, and it sounded more like a threat than a promise.

She was about to reply when their orders arrived, brought by a waitress with dirty blonde hair tied in a chignon over her head and a smile directed at Killian. She must know him, and her flirtatious looks she threw at him were a confirmation. Emma squeezed his hand again, caressing the back of his hand with her thumb, pressing lightly down on it, a technique of seduction she'd learned from Madame. She would've even used her foot, but they weren't at that point in their relationship yet, she just needed to catch his attention, not to seduce him. Well, that too, maybe.

Emma ran her finger along the side of Killian's hand, no pressure, just a simple caress that light it seemed natural.

The waitress – her tag said Rose, but Killian and the others kept calling her Tink – placed their orders on the table and Emma found herself forced to pull her hand away from Killian's, slowly enough though to allow the light to be caught on her wedding band. If she knew him well enough, then this Tink must know Killian was married.

There were wives, of course, that allowed their husbands to have lovers – which was ridiculous, really, why buying them if they wanted to have other lovers?

«Alright then,» Emma said, looking at the cheeseburger almost drooling, «let's see if Liam's habanero sauce is actually devilishly delicious.»

Sufficed to say she had to drink a long gulp of beer amidst the laughs of the other three in the tentative of placate the fire in her mouth.

«I should've warned you, love,» Killian, who didn't seem affected by the spiciness of the sauce, smirked, «this is devilishly spicy.»

«And I'll never call you that either,» she stated the moment she started to feel her lips again.

«I'll find the way to convince you,» Killian promised with a wink and she blushed violently, and it definitely wasn't because of the habanero.

Despite the spiciness, Emma managed to finish the cheeseburger under the incredulous stares of the others. She arched an eyebrow. «I never back down in front of a challenge,» she said with a smirk and a shrug.

«Oh, Killian, you've chosen your soulmate,» David teased him.

«What can I say, mate, I love a challenge and a lot of spice in my life.» Emma felt her cheeks burn at that phrase, noticing the illegal way in which he licked his lower lip with the tip of his tongue. She felt a sudden warmth in her stomach that descended towards her lower abdomen and she had to rub her thighs together to ease the ache she felt building inside her, an ache she'd never felt and she knew there was only one way to relieve.

«So,» Emma said clearing her throat, «do you want to find out the sex of the baby or will you wait until it's born?»

Mary Margaret looked at her sweetly. «Next week we have the appointment to find it out if you'll have a little nephew or a little niece.»

Emma felt herself crumble inside. One thing was lying to adults about her life, another was lying to children, children who would grow fond of her, to whom she would be unable of lying to because she'd never learned how to.

It wasn't a lesson to take lightly and at the same time one that was taught as consequence of an incident. Usually, those who bought wives didn't want children from them. As she'd told Killian the night of the incident with Milah, Emma knew almost none of the girls had children unless the husband wanted them, which was highly improbable. In most of the cases, children were accidents, after all contraceptives weren't always infallible. There were men who kept the children because they added a touch of truthfulness to the farce, other had an abortion because they didn't want such a huge responsibility.

Madame trained the wives to be good mothers, giving them information about pregnancies, about how recognize the symptoms without having to take a test. Part of the course focused on their behaviour, on how they would have to learn to be good mothers and to be lovely with the children. Madame always used to say that a sense of protection would automatically be born during the pregnancy. She talked from experience, Emma was almost sure of it, her sixth sense told her, however Madame had never mentioned any children, nor these were part of the organization.

Emma knew that, one way or another, she would have to deal with children even if not hers, she just didn't think it would happen so soon, nor that she would trust her so blindly. If the truth came out, something highly impossible, Emma could never survive the hate those children would feel towards her.

«Well, good, I can't wait to know,» she said, but her lie was obvious in the trembling of her voice. Mary Margaret placed a hand on her arm, squeezing it affectionately. «If you just try to give me a nickname like Killy I swear I'll kill you.»

Her joke had desired effect, it loosened the tension and caused more laughs and curses from the two men.

«Oh, come on, Killy is so beautiful, it suits you,» David commented, «for Emma we could use Emmy, Ems… Duckling.»

«Swan,» Emma automatically replied, biting down hard on her lip, her cheeks red from embarrassment. «My surname, is Swan. Besides, why Duckling?»

David arched an eyebrow, placing his elbows on the table. «Swan? Jones suits you better, in my opinion. No offense, buddy. I wouldn't know, anyway,» he replied narrowing his eyes, as if to study Emma. Unlike Killian's gaze, though, David's inquiring one didn't seem to read her mind, but it wasn't less uncomfortable. «Duckling is just a nickname.»

«But why should it suit me?» She couldn't keep her mouth shut, apparently.

He seemed surprised, but did his best not to show it. «Because you're still a duckling in the guise of a swan.» That sentence hurt her so much she felt actual physical pain.

Killian must have noticed Emma's expression because took the hand she had placed on the table once again and look furiously at David. «Nobody ever tell you that you look like a pig?»

«Killian!» Emma hissed, squeezing his hand harder. It was flattering that he tried to defend her honour when David was that close to the truth, but it wasn't necessary. She was indefensible, and so was her non-existent honour.

David bowed his head, an expression of apology on his face as he lifted his gaze to look Emma in her eyes. She kept hers on her lap. «I'm sorry, I…» David cleared his throat. «When I was seven, my mom got pregnant, and I used to call the baby Duckling. It was a girl but… there've been complications and she… she didn't make it.»

Now Emma had tears in her eyes. She was the first one to want a family even if she'd stopped wanting one when she was thirteen, and she didn't wish any child to be an orphan. Hers had always been a one-way hate towards the parents that abandoned their children, but a part of her would never wish for a parent to lose their child.

«I'm sorry,» she murmured, Killian's fingers tightened around her hand. She breathed in deeply and lifted her head, meeting David's gaze. «Besides, Swan isn't my actual surname, it's the one I've chosen for myself.»

Killian lifted their joined hands and kissed Emma's sweetly. «It suits you marvellously,» he told her without averting his eyes from hers. «Now, I still have room for the dessert, even if I don't believe I'll be entirely sated until I get home.» He twisted their hands, brushing the soft skin of her wrist with his lips, just below the leather bracelet she was wearing to cover the scar, now redder than ever. It looked like she couldn't stop scratching it and it wasn't a good thing.

Emma felt herself blush, feeling that warmth again bubbling up in her stomach. She bit her lower lip, averting her gaze and she asked herself if that night Killian would want her. A part of her doubted it, the other one wanted to go home immediately.

Firstly, though, there was dessert.

«Alright, Casanova, now we'll give you something to eat and I'm not talking about Emma,» David mocked him, lifting a hand to call a waitress who, obviously, was Tink.

Lifting her chin, Emma crossed her legs under the table, leaning forward with an elbow on the table, her hand still in Killian's and no, she wasn't marking her territory. Not at all.

David ordered a Guinness cake, Mary Margaret a – large – piece of the coffee and walnut cake and Killian a Baileys cheesecake and now their eyes were all on Emma, again.

She scrunched her nose. «These baptisms of fire are endless, jeez,» she grumbled pressing on her American accent as her eyes were caught by a particular dessert. «Molten chocolate cake with Irish cream.»

Mary Margaret burst out laughing. «I hope you'll never run out of chocolate at home, Killian, from what I've seen Emma could ever murder you.»

Going along with it, Emma feigned indignation. «I remember you not refusing those three mugs of hot chocolate.»

«In fact, I didn't, but I'm pregnant,» Mary Margaret retorted with sweet insolence and a little smile on her lips. If she thought Emma was pregnant too, well, she was sorely wrong.

«Oh, you're right, it's the baby who wants chocolate,» Emma commented ironically.

Mary Margaret nodded with a smirk. «Exactly,» she confirmed, leaning back onto the wall.

Emma rolled her eyes. «Poor child, it's always its fault,» she said with a fake pout; part of her wanted to keep joking but she'd thought many times it was her fault if her parents had abandoned her, or when none of the foster families had kept her longer than established.

Probably feeling her discomfort, Killian gently squeezed her hand. She noticed he was doing that all too often, yet she couldn't not find it comforting. She gave him a shy smile feeling his fingers massaging her skin gently, differently from how she'd done before to bring his attention on her, his was a more comforting touch, almost genuine.

She asked herself if he knew what he was doing, but she knew better than reprimand him, she must let him do whatever he wanted with her.

Soon their orders arrived, Emma's with a chocolate swan on the plate that made Killian roll his eyes. She chuckled, inebriating herself with the flavour of chocolate. Mary Margaret was right, she would've killed to have some chocolate even if the idea of killing Killian wasn't one of the most tempting. Not that she would kill someone, of course.

«Killian, just hope your brother has no intention of stealing your wife because from what I'm seeing he could be able to do it,» David mocked Killian, but the joke fell flat on a surface wet with champagne that reflected the face of a certain married woman.

Emma smirked. «Nah, for the moment I think I'll keep him,» she said, digging her fork into the cake. Apparently, Killian had told Liam her surname, he'd talked with him about her, but evidently he'd not told him how they'd met, he'd left that to her.

«Good girl,» Mary Margaret said, patting her shoulder, «it's not for them to choose us, but the other way 'round.»

Emma's heart did somersaults in her chest. _You don't know how wrong you are_ ¸ she would've liked to tell her, because Killian had actually chosen her, and not in the romantic way. «Poor them,» she laughed trying to minimise the tension she felt in her chest. That cake was heavenly, simply delicious, even if it was burning her tongue she wouldn't wait another minute before eating it. «Mhm, delicious,» she moaned licking her lips. She met Killian's gaze for a moment, his blue eyes turning almost black, full of desire.

«I'm glad you like it, lass,» said a voice making her wince. She lifted her gaze and noticed Liam, who grabbed a chair and sat at the head of the table. «At least you've chosen one capable of appreciating carbs, little brother.»

«Younger brother,» Killian grumbled, «besides, it wasn't me who's chosen her, the girls have just said they're the one to choose us boys.»

«Ah, right, right,» Liam commented, nodding his head before turning towards Emma. «My apologies, milady, apparently you've chosen this idiot that is of my little brother. Seriously, you'll have to explain how you manage to stand him.»

Emma gulped, hiding her discomfort with a malicious smile. «Eh, sometimes I wonder that, too.»

Liam hummed, shifting his gaze between her and Killian, evidently studying their reactions. It was obvious he didn't trust Emma, that he felt something wasn't right. Even if he acted politely, he was the one who knew Killian well, maybe even better than himself. She had to show she was the woman Killian was in love with, a woman worth falling in love for.

She almost laughed at the absurdity of her own thoughts. She cleared her voice. «Thank you for the decoration,» Emma added blushing slightly, despite it being an apparent insignificant gesture, it was nice, spontaneous.

«Don't mention it,» he replied with a sincere smile, «but I will not thank you for turning my little brother into an utter idiot whenever you're mentioned. I mean, I could handle him when he was an idiot, but I couldn't imagine he could become even more idiot.»

As the other burst out laughing, Killian included despite the redness on the tips of his ears, Emma let a chuckle slip past her lips, trying to assimilate the information Liam had given her.

So Killian smiled like an idiot every time her name was mentioned when he talked with his brother, as if he actually was in love with her, as if he actually wanted her to be his wife. No, it must be just an act. It must be, because Emma couldn't allow herself to hop their union could become something more real.

Part of her, though, told her it could've been real. She shook her head, silently laughing of herself. _You're an idiot, Emma, he's faking it right now_.

«No, seriously, Emma,» David continued, «he's become such a sap soon we'll have cavities.»

Mary Margaret huffed, amused by that exchange. «Leave him alone, poor Killian.»

«Aw, thank you, Mama Bear,» Killian told her blowing her a kiss the woman pretended to catch.

«This and more for my bear cubs,» she replied bringing to her mouth a forkful of cake – Heaven forbid Liam left the future mom low on sugars.

 _Summer Nights_ spread through the pub, making Killian roll his eyes skywards again. «How many times have you heard it butchered, brother?»

«Do you mean tonight or when I had the bloody wonderful idea of doing karaoke nights?» Liam grunted twisting his head towards the stage to see who were the ones wanting to be thrown out of the pub without an apparent good reason even though it was definitely valid. «Oh.»

Curious, Emma turned to look into the same direction and saw a boy and a girl not much older than her on the stage, he as red as a tomato and she definitely tipsy.

«I assume Cait did good on one of her exams,» Killian smirked finishing his dessert. He could complain and tease her all he wanted but he too had a sweet tooth. Emma held back a smirk at the thought that they weren't all that different when it came to sweets.

Mary Margaret sighed, a dreamy expression on her face. «They are so cute together.»

«And so stupid they can't even realize they're in love. Come on, they're so madly in love they even have a shipname,» Liam said with a smirk. «And I'm sorry for you, Snow, but Cisco is their number one shipper, I don't think you'll able to overthrow him. Even if he'll might let you help him with the preparations for the wedding.»

«Poor Barry,» David laughed, «everyone at the station mock him.»

«You mean _you_ don't let him live,» his wife argued shaking her head. She turned towards Emma. «You see, Emma, those two are so stubborn they don't even realize how much they mean for one another. They try to deny how they really feel and hide behind their job and studies to avoid thinking about their own feelings. And this is why we must step in.»

Emma smirked. «If only it were that easy for all my fictional couples to be together.»

«Come on,» Liam interrupted her in mocking horror, «what about the angst that leads to the first kiss and their happy ending? We all love it.»

She rolled her eyes. «Yeah, I do too, but in most of the cases shows go on and on and they ruin the characters or they are cancelled without happy ending, sometimes not even with a kiss.»

Liam had to give it to her. «You're right. Think about _Reckless_ , cancelled after the first season and those two didn't even have sex. And they were about to!»

Emma widened her eyes. «Y-you watched _Reckless_? I thought I was the only one on Earth that knew it! I mean, I forced Ruby to watch it, but finding someone here? Woah.»

«And I've watched _Moonlight_ , too,» Liam added. Okay, _that_ was weird. Well, not that much, because it'd been cancelled after just one season, but finding someone who'd seen two unknown tv shows in _Ireland_ was just too strange.

She huffed. « _Moonlight_ isn't a plagiarism, and many other shows could be considered that, why that one in particular?»

«At least we got a kiss,» David mumbled, «and an "I love you".»

Emma felt herself smile like an idiot. «And we even got _Veronica Mars_ ' movie,» she added finishing cleaning the plate from the chocolate, leaving the swan for last.

«I still wonder why they cancelled it,» Mary Margaret hissed, «especially after Veronica and Logan broke up. Thank God there was the movie, really.»

Killian laughed, looking at Emma. «You should've seen her, Emma, she would've torn the house down just to speak with the producers.»

Emma chuckled, patting Mary Margaret's shoulder. «I would put up a fight too, trust me but, as I said, thank God or whatever other deity up there for the movie.»

Thank God, Barry and Cait finished butchering the song, although they'd been kind of cute, especially him who, despite the clear discomfort, had done it for her.

Liam stood, noticing that the two bartenders behind the counter were barely managing the customers and the pub was rapidly filling. «I must leave you, duty calls. I'll have Tink bring you something to drink. Snow, would you like a fruity non-alcoholic cocktail?» After an affirmative answer from Mary Margaret, Liam headed back with a bow, moving through the crowd with shoulders back and the step of a man who knew how to command others.

Emma didn't like much the idea of mixing beer and other drinks and, even if a part of her knew she could refuse, she didn't want to. Besides, Madame used to make the girls drink different cocktails to toughen them up.

When after a while Tink brought them their cocktails, Emma felt herself being filled by a strange sensation, biting and that warmed her from the inside, and not in a good way. If she'd dared thinking about it one more minute, she would've said it was jealousy. But she didn't think about it, preferring to carefully study her own cocktail instead of noticing the looks that woman was throwing at _her_ husband.

«It's a _Jack Rose_ ,» Tink informed her with a tight smile. Emma arched an eyebrow at her arrogance.

«Yeah, I know, Applejack, Grenadine and lemon juice, famous thanks to Ernest Hemingway,» Emma explained with a sigh, shrugging, «I'm clearly so stupid I can't even recognize a cocktail.»

The waitress' face was red of anger and humiliation, evidently she didn't think Emma knew cocktails at all. _And this is nothing_ , Emma though to herself, remembering how much she'd studied them. Part of her even found herself grateful for those lessons, but it was a small and insignificant part.

She knew all the cocktails on the table, she knew that the one in front of David was a _Hearn_ – really, really strong but she didn't doubt his ability to hold his liquor – and she also knew that what Killian had in the glass in front of him was rum, even though she wouldn't be able to tell which one.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed David laughing to himself. She didn't dare looking at Killian, she didn't know if he would be amused or angry.

Her husband, though, was holding back his own laugh too, although he didn't seem amused by the situation itself but by Emma's reaction. Did he find her jealousy amusing? _Wait, wait, wait, I'm_ not _jealous_ , she thought in the impossible attempt to convince herself.

«Thank you, Think,» Mary Margaret dismissed her gently to save her from the awkwardness she was certainly feeling. Part of Emma almost felt sorry for her. _Almost_.

Once she was gone, David burst out laughing, followed by Killian. «Poor Tink,» David said shaking his head, «I wouldn't be her right now.»

Emma shrugged, tracing the stem of the glass with her fingers, slightly ashamed of her own behaviour. «I'm sorry if I've upset her but…»

«But she deserved her,» Mary Margaret finished for her, «she's just too irritable sometimes.»

David took matters into his own hands raising his glass. «I propose a toast, even if with cocktails and not champagne but it doesn't matter, to Emma, may she find tolerable life with this idiot and not decide to run back to the States.»

«To Emma,» Mary Margaret and Killian said in unison making her blush. _I won't go back to the States unless Killian wants it_ , she thought as she made her glass clink with the others'. She drank a sip to hide the uneasiness she felt beneath her embarrassment.

The cocktail was perfect, Liam seemed to have read her mind; despite it not being one of her favourites, she didn't mind a good _Jack Rose_. She bit into the alcohol-impregnated apple slice, conscious of Killian's eyes on her lips. He seemed to look at them a lot, that evening, but Emma couldn't allow herself to get her hopes high, or even to think about it.

After gulping down his rum, much to Emma's surprise – because rum must be savoured – Killian stood, smiling at her. «I must speak with Liam for a moment, I'll be right back,» he apologized, showing no intention of moving closer and, after a short instant, he vanished in the crowd.

Emma tried with all herself not to show it hurt her, but Mary Margaret must've understood it because she placed a hand on her knee, squeezing it in a comforting gesture. «He'll come back to you,» she tried to reassure her, and Emma's heart broke even more because she didn't deserve those words.

She smiled weakly, drinking another sip of her cocktail, then another one until the glass was half empty. She began to feel her head starting to spin but she wasn't drunk yet, just a little tipsy.

She started to drum her fingers on the table as someone sang almost decently _Complicated_.

«Ah, someone is starting to feel the magic of the music,» David teased her.

Emma shook her head. «Nah, I just like the song,» she replied sipping her cocktail, every sip longer than the previous ones.

David arched an eyebrow, not in the _right_ way, not like Killian did. He chuckled, standing up suddenly and grabbing Emma by her arm, dragging her onto her fee. She knocked into him, unstable on her legs for a moment.

«Everything alright?» he asked her, worried. Emma nodded, trying to resist him as he dragged towards the now empty small stage. A perfect occasion, although she was sure David would've removed whoever tried to take the microphone in that same moment.

She felt her stomach twist and cold sweat beaded her forehead. She'd never performed in front of a crowd, she'd never even done karaoke, she just used to sing with Ruby or in front of Madame when she tested the girls. It wasn't unusual that some girls were asked to sing and dance, even though usually weren't the husbands to ask those kinds of services.

«David,» she tried to warn him but her voice got lost in the crowd. He didn't stop and she didn't have the force to resist anymore.

They stopped in front of the stage where David turned towards her with a strange light in his eyes. «I've seen how you were looking at him earlier, Emma, and I've also seen how he looked at you. It won't matter if you'll butcher the song, it won't matter if you'll make a fool of yourself because he'll be looking at you and only you.» He bent towards her. «Make him come back to you.»

He placed the mic in her hand and winked before making her step onto the stage and disappearing again. Emma felt more eyes on her as she convulsively clutched the mic, her heart hammering in her chest and thundering in her ears made her deaf to the chatting of the patrons.

Keeping her gaze low, Emma headed towards the monitor, her mind suddenly blank as she tried to remember even just one song. She let her gaze wander the list as anxiety began to rise again.

Suddenly, she read the title of a song and her lips lifted in a smile. She pressed _play_ and from the speakers the intro of _Livin' On A Prayer_ started to play.

She breathed in deeply and brought the mic to her lips, her eyes glued to the monitor in fear of meeting the other's eyes – Killian's in particular.

« _Tommy used to work on the docks, union's been on strike he's down on his luck, it's tough, so tough._ » She'd started pretty low, hesitant, but her voice was pushing to come out, soon the show would begin, she knew it because she was _good_. No, more than good, Madame had been pleasantly surprised, and she and Ruby used to sing all the time, even during the night whenever they couldn't sleep.

« _Gina works the diner all day, working for her man, she brings home her pay for love, for love_.» It wasn't impossible for her _not_ to lift her gaze and search Killian's as she sang. She met it at one end of the counter as he was standing beside Liam, watching her with his mouth agape.

« _She says "we've gotta hold on to what we've got, it doesn't make a difference if we make it or not, we've got each other and that's a lot for love, we'll give it a shot"_.»

She was now freewheeling singing, singing with so much ease as she kept her eyes locked with Killian's, as if she was singing _for_ him, so that he'd understand her.

« _Whoa, we're half way there, whoa, livin' on a prayer, take my hand and we'll make it, I swear, whoa, livin' on a prayer_.»

Emma wasn't singing loudly, but powerfully, she was now so immersed in the song her movements seemed natural even to the patrons, who were watching her enraptured.

« _Tommy's got his six string in hock, now he's holding in what he used to make it talk so tough, it's tough._ » She passed her tongue on her lip, meeting Killian's gaze again, lost for a few seconds while she lost herself in music, letting it speak to her. Music was the only thing she couldn't get angry at, she would give her own soul to it if it'd helped saving her from the puppet life she was living.

« _Gina dreams of running away, when she cries in the night Tommy whispers "baby, it's okay, someday..."_ »

The patrons were applauding her, singing as if she was Jon Bon Jovi and them huge fans. Emma felt adrenaline pulse inside her veins and her hair stick to her sweat-covered skin.

« _We've gotta hold on to what we've got, it doesn't make a difference if we make it or not, we've got each other and that's a lot for love, we'll give it a shot._ »

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Killian heading towards the stage, making his way between the people, his gaze fixed on her as if he was bewitched. She tried to ignore the furious pounding of her heart channelling that feeling towards the performance.

« _Whoa, we're half way there, whoa, livin' on a prayer, take my hand and we'll make it, I swear, whoa, livin' on a prayer, livin' on a prayer._ »

It wasn't a high note, it wasn't the best vocal performance she'd ever done either, but it was _epic_ and more excitement made her almost fly at the thought of the last part, of the passion she would pour into the last notes, feeling somehow free.

« _We've gotta hold on ready or not, you live for the fight when it's all that you've got, whoa, we're half way there, whoa, livin' on a prayer, take my hand and we'll make it, I swear, whoa, livin' on a prayer, whoa, livin' on a prayer, whoa, livin' on a prayer, livin' on a prayer_.»

When her voice faded in the air she heard only whistles of appreciation, screams that called for an encore and clapping. Emma felt herself turn red, full of euphoria as she searched for Killian's eyes, now bluer than she'd ever seen them before, shining with wonder.

He returned her gaze and grabbed her hand, leaving her just the time to place the mic down before drawing her into him and down the stage with a sudden gesture that made her clash into his chest, knocking her breath out. Killian didn't even let her take a deep breath before pressing his lips against hers.

Emma was caught by surprise but kissed him back with the same euphoria she'd poured into her performance, circling his neck with her arms and pressing herself against him with all she had, the light caught by the wedding ring she wore on her finger was the last thing she saw before closing her eyes and letting herself go.

Killian circled her waist with his arms, his hands wandering on Emma's back, pressing her even more against himself, feeling with a shiver her breasts against his chest. He pressed his tongue against Emma's lips, silently asking her for entrance.

She moaned, allowing him to invade her mouth and threaded her fingers through his hair, pure black silk she could finally touch and pull, digging her nails into his scalp and making him wince and dig his finger into her back. Emma bit his lower lip, inebriated by his scent and his flavour, suddenly dizzy.

«Emma,» Killian moaned against her lips, pressing his forehead against hers without opening his eyes. She didn't either, too scared of the fact that if she opened them he wouldn't actually be there.

Still inebriated by everything she'd felt in the last five minutes, Emma conceded herself to slightly pull away from Killian and look him in the eyes, noticing how his irises were now a thin ring. There was darkness in his gaze. No, not darkness, a dark _hunger_ that made her knees tremble in a positive way. She would've jumped him if they hadn't been in a public place.

Unable to hold back, Emma surrendered to the hunger she felt in her own veins, drawing Killian back to her for another kiss. She felt him groan in her mouth, grabbing her hips and pressing her against him, making her feel how much he was appreciating the kiss.

«Get a room!»

That scream made her wince, a smile painted itself on her lips as Killian pulled away slowly, almost reluctantly. He wrapped an arm around her waist and led her back towards the table.

She pretended not to notice the Nolans' smug looks, the two now sat side by side, Mary Margaret completely leant against David, visibly tired.

«Killian, you never told us Emma was so good,» David said with an amused smile, he'd clearly aimed at the fact that Emma's voice would be powerful and, apparently, he'd won.

She felt Killian's awed gaze on herself and blushed even more. «Emma's full of surprises. And I'd never heard her sing.»

«You didn't?» Mary Margaret asked, surprised, and Emma stiffened. It wasn't that strange, was it? Emma didn't make music her profession, that was mostly a… hobby. Or at least she considered it so.

Emma shrugged. «I don't like to have an audience, I don't… system's fault,» she cut short, tired of giving explanations, especially when she didn't want to give them. She couldn't tell Mary Margaret how children at school used to make fun of her just because she was an orphan, because she always sat alone at lunch, watching the other kids eat when she didn't have anything or was forced to steal it, getting into trouble most of the time. She didn't want to tell her how true had rung those words until she was convinced nobody would ever want her and that it would've been better if she was never born.

Killian squeezed gently her waist, as if sensing her discomfort. «I must admit, she couldn't have surprised me in a better way, I think I wasn't even this excited at _U2_ 's concert.»

A shiver of pleasure ran down Emma's spine, ending in the pit of her stomach. _Excited, yeah,_ she told herself, running her tongue on her lips at the thought of _how much_ he was excited. She giggled like a schoolgirl, pressing her lips on his shoulder, embarrassed and flattered by his words, because they were _true_.

«Well, sister, I didn't think you were the new Christina Aguilera.» Liam's voice made her jump; why did he love to appear behind people's back without making a noise? He must've learned it in the Navy, and sooner or later that would give her a heart attack.

She snorted, amused. «Yeah, Christina Aguilera of the poor.»

«Don't sell yourself short, lass,» Liam told her, «with that last high note I thought I should order new glasses.»

Emma bit her lip to hold back a smile, failing completely. «Sorry,» she said embarrassed but not regretful at all.

«Ah, love, you're not sorry at all, are you?» Killian smirked, pinching her waist and making her jump. His eyes lit up, putting aside that information for later. Emma shivered, and not in fear.

Mary Margaret fought a yawn and soon David helped her stand up and put on her coat. «I'm sorry, but Mama Bear here is starting to feel hibernation season approaching- ouch!» Everybody laughed while Mary Margaret pretended to feel offended by her husband's words.

They said their goodbyes and soon, after a last round of shots of rum for Killian and vodka for Emma, they too headed home, hand in hand.

She swayed a little. «I hate heels,» she grumbles to herself, making Killian chuckle as he held her close to him, his cheeks pink.

«Ah, finally the truth comes out,» he teased her, tightening his grip around her waist so she wouldn't feel too dizzy. Killian leaned down to whisper in her ear: «Those heels of yours you wore the other night slimmed your perfect figure. I spent these last nights thinking about how awesome you'd be with only those on.»

Emma moaned, she actually _moaned_ at the sound of those words that inflamed her veins, making her burn with passion.

Too bad they were in a public pace and still had a long way to go. Besides, if she was reading all the signals well, she didn't want her first time to be in a dark alley, a quickie that wouldn't sate her completely, and part of her hoped Killian didn't want something like that either.

She threw him a look that wanted to be bold and provocative. «Oh, those are _nothing_ in comparison to some beauties I own,» Emma said, playfully digging her teeth into her lower lip. She was playing with fire and she didn't care at all.

Suddenly, Killian pushed her against a wall and crashed his mouth onto hers, devouring her in that semi-dark alley he'd dragged her into. Emma let him kiss her, kissing him back with fervour, pulling his hair as she tried not to be overwhelmed by the want to _actually_ feel him.

«Not here,» Killian whispered against her jaw, trailing lower towards her throat. He'd spoken out loud, but he seemed more intended on convincing himself than her.

Emma placed her hands on his chest, pushing him away slightly from her body. «Easy, tiger,» she smirked, nibbling her lower lip, her cheeks bright red.

«Come, let's grab a cab,» he replied hastily, intertwining their fingers as he dragged her towards the sidewalk where he raised a hand to hail a cab. Once they were sat in the backseat Killian started to draw circles onto Emma's knee as she tried to get a grip on herself and falling miserably.

She bit back a sigh of pure pleasure as Killian's fingers trailed upwards towards the point she desired him most. Emma tilted her head back, exposing her throat to his ravenous eyes and soon his lips found the delicate skin right above her veins.

 _Oh_. Emma suffocated a moan. It was a strange sensation, his stubble tickled her but it was just _so_ pleasing and arousing. «Mhm.»

Killian chuckled slowly, one of his hands sneaked under her blouse and sensually caressed her abdomen sending shivers all through her body. He nibbled her lobe and Emma reluctantly pulled away to give him a warning glance.

The cab ride lasted less than ten minutes, evidently the driver couldn't wait to get rid of them either seeing how much they were clinging to each other, maybe because he feared they would finish what they were doing on his backseat.

Emma breathed in a huge gulp of air as she got out of the cab after having released herself from Killian's grasp, waiting just a few steps away while he paid the driver and hurriedly came back to her, dragging her towards the house's main entrance.

Before she could ever think about fishing the key out of her purse, Killian pressed her against the wall. At that rate she would wake up the next morning with her back red. Honestly, she didn't care at all. She smirked against her lips as she kissed him back and circled his neck with her arms.

She bit his lower lip, sucking it between her teeth before kissing him again, trailing her nails along his neck and up into his hair. Killian emitted a low appreciative growl, something purely animal that made her slightly spread her legs, searching for that little friction that would quench at least a bit the fire that was devouring her.

Killian didn't lose time and placed himself between her thighs, his erection pressing against her stomach as his fingers sneaked again under her blouse and caressed the underside of her bra. Part of Emma's mind was glad she'd chosen a strapless one, easier to lowe- _oh_.

Apparently, Killian had received the message and had lowered both cups, cupping her breasts and teasing her nipples until they were two hard points. Emma wanted to feel his mouth everywhere but had to settle for his fingers, and she had no doubt they were magical, too.

One of Killian's hand went to grab a jeans-cladded thigh, a clear invitation Emma didn't hesitate in accepting, feeling herself being lifted up after a second, widening her legs so to allow him to better settle against her, the hard bulge in his pants now deliciously pressed against her hot center.

They both moaned and Emma moved her hips slightly, making Killian groan. She hissed, searching his lips, and Killian kissed her back, pushing his hips against hers again, making her gasp.

They explored each other's mouth for what seemed hours, Emma rocking against Killian as he replied to her frenzy need playing with her nipples and leaving marks all over her neck. She was able to give him a hickey too, to _mark_ him as hers, and inside her she felt a surge of pride, something she would never admit with anyone, she should never feel proud of something like that.

«Oh God,» she panted when their game made Killian's belt make contact with her clit, making her moan loudly.

«Ha-ha! Looks like I've found my treasure,» Killian smirked, he too out of breath, nibbling her shoulder; his fingers seemed to not want to leave her breasts.

Emma tried not to reply, but another push made her roll her eyes backwards, sending her flying. She'd never felt something so arousing, not even when she'd touched herself – because, after all, the girls needed to know their bodies and know how to please themselves in order to please their clients.

That feeling was so different she couldn't even describe it. There was pure ecstasy but even that aching need to be filled. She sunk her fingers in his hair, pulling it, and Killian replied pulling a nipple with his fingers and pushed his hips upwards making her cry out in surprise and bliss. Oh, she would never want to stop. _Never_.

Emma increased the rock of her hips, rubbing faster against Killian and catching his moans with her lips in a clash of teeth and tongues.

«Come, love, _come_ , take what you need,» Killian panted keeping pushing against her cunt, wanting to feel quiver with pleasure, to see her fall prey to the passion thanks to him, knowing it was _him_ who'd made her feel that sensation.

With a last, hard push from Killian and one as much powerful from Emma, she came screaming his name in the dead silence of the night, not caring about the fact that someone could hear her. He came too with a low grunt he muffled against the soft skin of her shoulder.

She felt herself melt and must hold on to Killian whilst his hips moved automatically against her for a few more instants. She felt Killian run a hand through her hair as she tried to catch her breath.

Emma was about to say something and make a comment about what had just happen, ready for a second round when she felt him stiffen and not in the way she wanted him to.

As if burned, Killian pulled his hands out from under her blouse and freed himself from the grip of her legs letting Emma go so abruptly she had to lean against the wall to not fall.

In the dark of the night she couldn't see Killian's face well but his voice was full of anguish and rage, not against her though, or not just her, he was mostly angry with himself.

«I… I can't,» he mumbled fishing the keys out of the pocket of his leather jacket and opening the door, disappearing inside the dark house that had become their own prison.

Not caring about the biting cold in contrast with the fire she'd felt just moments before, Emma let herself slip to the ground, allowing the tears to flow only when she distantly heard a door slam.

 **So. Do you hate me? Probably. Definitely. But ehhh, angst is angst, after all. It'll get better, I promise you. If you want to hear the version I listened to on repeat while writing this chapter it's Jordin Sparks', mostly because all the other covers weren't of my liking.**

 **Shortly on my tumblr - darkcolinodonorgasm - you'll find Emma's attire for this chapter - thanks again net-a-porter.**

 **Thank you, thank you so much and I'm actually sorry for how this chapter ends but I couldn't do it otherwise. I hope I did good with Emma's emotions because I wanted her to _want_ Killian even if she doesn't know why she feels that way. As much as she thinks it's a duty, Emma also wants Killian, that's why I'm not exactly talking about a duty in this chapter as much as a want, a need.**

 **Again, thank you so much. Until next time!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Oh, yeah, it's me! Hi! And with a little more than a month since the last update, this must be magic. First of all, I want to thank all of you who follow the story and for the comments and kudos and faves, for everything, really. It means the world to me.**

 **This is a bit of a filler chapter, I'm afraid, yet there's a really important moment though I'm not really into that kind of trope.**

 **I want to ask the guest who left a review I couldn't reply to: yes, Cora gave Emma the Killian's folder, and as I wrote, Emma did find it strange, but we'll get to know how Killian fell down the so-called rabbit hole, just not now, and probably not in the near future, I'm afraid. The fact that she didn't know about Liam will be explained then, and yes, Mary Margaret did say Liam was his brother, but she still didn't know anything about him, so wondering about Liam was normal. Or at least, to me it was. As for the zero to 100 sex scene at the end it was pure lust, a way for them to work off the tension. I'm well aware they didn't solve anything as a couple, that chapter wasn't meant to be intended as such, this one won't either, but it will smooth things out a bit, I hope.**

 **Now that I've said so, I know there might be confusion, but this is a multichapter and I hate giving all the answers too soon, so bear with me, be patient, please.**

 **I hope you enjoy this chapter, even if it's not a major one I love it quite a bit. And I'm sorry in advance for all the mistakes and inaccuracies.**

 **Thank you again, until next time!**

Chapter 6

Putting a foot into a puddle was never a nice sensation, putting a foot into an _icy_ puddle with only thin socks and suede ankle booties was even worse.

Clenching her gloved hands into fists, Emma hissed a few curses, trying to shake most of the water off the shoe, and kept walking.

It'd been a week since that night at the pub, a magnificent and at the same time disastrous night. After having cried all her tears – no, not all of them because she'd cried a lot under the shower and before she could fall asleep too – Emma had discovered that Killian had returned to his monastic silence and now they didn't even run into each other in the kitchen.

To fill her time, Emma had started to read almost every book of the huge library and, from time to time, she ventured through the streets of Drogheda to explore the city. She would've liked to go to the beach, there was a trail that led to a kind of private beach she could see from the window in her room but she'd not found the courage yet.

She looked at the watch on her wrist, noticing that she wasn't late for her breakfast. On Tuesday and Thursday, in fact, she'd had breakfast at Widow Lucas' diner, who made heavenly waffles with whipped cream and strawberries. And maybe it was just because of her surname, the same as Ruby's, and it was just a mere coincidence, but she felt good there, definitely better than she ever felt at Neverland House.

Emma entered the diner, not so much crowded despite it being Friday morning. She took off scarf and gloves, leaving the heat in the diner warm her up. With a sigh, she sat on a stool. She'd hoped her walks would distract her from thinking about Killian but they didn't.

She didn't want to think about him, not even as a sexual distraction. Emma held back a sob, she didn't want to be the town's most famous man's wife and be pitied by a woman with half-moon glasses who looked at her like a hawk from behind the counter. So she kept a stoic face, not convincing the woman because she placed the biggest mug of hot chocolate, whipped cream and cinnamon in front of her.

Her eyes filled with tears as she dug her teeth into her lower lip. Not only he'd bought her apparently to make his ex jealous, but he didn't want her either. Killian didn't mistreat her, but that silent treatment was even worse. People wasn't kidding when they said indifference was the best weapon to hurt someone.

The actual problem, though, was that Emma, even if she shouldn't be feeling that want of being with him, she did. Madame always taught the girls not to get attached, she warned them, or at least she tried, because Emma had failed miserably.

«What did that wretch do this time to make you look like this?» Widow Lucas' – or Granny, as she'd wanted Emma to call her – voice made her jump and she almost knocked over the hot chocolate.

Was she really that easy to read or wasn't she as good at wearing a mask as she thought? She breathed in deeply, trying to smile. «Nothing, absolutely nothing, Granny…» she whispered, not daring to meet the woman's stare.

«Do my crossbow and I need to pay him a visit?»

That made her chuckle. «No, don't worry. Everything's gonna be alright.» _I hope_.

The woman rolled her eyes. «Yeah, well, between him, his brother and yourself, I've never met more stubborn people. Worse than mules, that's what you are,» Granny muttered as she finished off Emma's waffles with whipped cream.

«Forgive me, Granny, but… it's nothing, really.»

«Of course, as you say,» the woman grumbled, placing the plate in front of her. «Just know that I _know_ you're saying that just to protect him. I've seen that boy grow, and you're acting just like Liam at the time when Killian got himself into troubles, and vice versa. They had each other's back, just like you're doing now. It doesn't take a genius to understand that he's been an idiot to you.»

«He's not been an idiot,» Emma retorted immediately, feeling herself in need to defend him even when he was indefensible. «It's just… we disagree on the matter and he doesn't want to talk about it.» _He doesn't want to see me either_ , she scowled mentally.

«Uhm,» Granny hummed, drying her hands on her apron. «Finish your breakfast, then go on your walk. This afternoon, at 3pm, come here, I'll teach you how to prepare a feast for five o'clock tea.»

Emma looked at her, tilting her head. «Five o'clock… I thought you were American,» she said, confused. Granny had an unmistakable accent, so similar to her own that in a way it made her feel at home, despite she didn't even know what a home was.

Granny raised her eyebrows. «And what does this mean? They have tea at five even in the States. Besides, I'll tell you a little secret: I'm actually English, I moved to Maine with my family when I was fifteen.»

«Ah, and there goes all my belief,» Emma tried to joke, actually dumbfounded that Granny had been in Maine, maybe even twenty-two years ago, when she'd been abandoned on the side of a road. «Have you ever… heard about abandoned children? In Maine, I mean.»

Her nonchalance must be revisited, a lot, because the woman looked at her from over her glasses as if she wanted to dig deep down into her and rip out the truth with actual wolf's claws. «Why are you asking?» However, she still was giving her the opportunity to tell her the truth, which almost made her cry.

«I had a case, a girl about my age was abandoned on the side of the road in Maine, near a little town called Storybrooke. The only thing she had with her was a baby blanket with her name on it and a necklace with a swan pendant. Before she met me, she'd lost her hope, and despite me being pretty good at finding people, after I left without giving her the answers she wanted, I feel like I abandoned her, too.»

Emma was sure Granny just _knew_ she was talking about herself, but nothing prepared her for the shocked expression she read on the woman's face. It lasted only for an instant but long enough to make her understand she knew something. And she also understood Granny wouldn't tell her. No matter the hurt she felt in that moment, Emma knew she wasn't ready for the truth.

«No, I'm sorry, dear, I've never heard this Storybrooke,» Granny replied and Emma could hear the lie in her voice. Despite her want to know, she also didn't, not now, being so close to the truth scared her. Emma knew she was a coward, yet she didn't feel it in herself to face the truth.

«Then I won't tell her anything, if she even just knew about you she'd come here asking you herself.»

«I'm sorry, Emma, if I knew something I'd tell her, if she wanted to know, of course. Knowing the truth about the past is not something one should take lightly.» She was warning her about whatever she knew, and Emma, coward that she was, knew it was better that way.

Silently, Emma ate her breakfast, trying not to think about Killian or her past. She dug her waffles and a strawberry into the whipped cream, wondering if she should've just bought several ice cream bowls along the way to Neverland House. «Do you have chocolate syrup?» she asked trying not to let the tears she wanted to let free betray her voice.

Granny placed the bottle of chocolate syrup in front of her with a sad smile.

 _This way I'm going to get diabetes_.

«If you add something else you're going to get diabetes.»

That voice made her wince, almost making her spill the syrup on her t-shirt. She turned her head towards the voice, looking at Liam with wide eyes. «Liam,» she exclaimed, surprised to find him there. «Hi.»

«Hello, little sister,» he replied, sitting on the stool next to her. Emma noticed him glaring at her plate. «Why no breakfast in bed?»

Emma frowned, wondering if that was something Killian did for his other… that Killian would do for his wife. _He probably used to do that for Milah_. She was about to open her mouth but he interrupted her with a huff.

«Don't tell me you fought _again_ ,» he grumbled shaking his head. «Come on, tell me what did that cretin of my little brother do this time.»

She pursed her lips, not sure whether to tell him about their fight or not. She didn't even know _what_ to tell him exactly. «He… We… Unfortunately, when we sobered up, the magic disappeared.»

«And he pushed you away, as usual.»

Emma furrowed her brow, tilting her head. «As usual?»

Liam returned her confused look. «I thought you knew how he is, at this point.»

Alarm bells started to go off in Emma's head at that sentence. She forced herself to chuckle darkly. «Do you mean that he's the type to curl himself up like a porcupine? Yes, I know all too well that kind of defence mechanism. It's useful when nobody's there to comfort you.» She cleared her voice, that wasn't the right moment to talk about her own past. «Though, shouldn't I be the one to sulk?»

«Instead you're here drowning your sorrows in sweets? Everyone has their own way to sulk, Emma. Killian'd rather not have to face his problems, that's it.»

Granny placed a cup of coffee in front of Liam, and Emma wondered if Killian would order the same, a simple black coffee, as he thought his soul was.

 _God, Swan, you and your clichés_ , she teased herself, mentally correcting: _Jones_. _I'll never get used to this. Well, I'm not even an_ actual _Jones, not exactly_.

«You… you think I should do something about it? Or will he resurface form his study on his own? Last time it took Mary Margaret, the alcohol did the rest.»

After a long sip of coffee, which allowed Emma to gulp down after of her waffles as she waited for an answer, Liam grimaced. «It depends on what you argued about.»

«Well,» Emma admitted, blushing slightly, «I don't think you could call that _arguing_ , we were, well, ehm… Yeah, I mean, he pulled away from me saying he couldn't do it and I haven't seen him since that day.»

She didn't have the courage to look at Liam despite feeling his eyes on her, or maybe it was because of that that she kept stirring the hot chocolate. The whipped cream had already disappeared completely.

With a sigh, Liam shook his head. «I often thought he was a lost cause,» he whispered setting his lips into a tight line. Emma looked at him, her brows knitted together. «After… _her_ , he spent months wallowing in the house and tormenting himself, certain that his life didn't mean anything anymore. There have been moments in which I thought I had lost him forever. I've always tried to protect him from everything, starting with our parents, but I've been so focused on the problems coming from the others that I've never known how to protect him from himself.»

Emma breathed in, placing her hand on Liam's wrist. She bit her lower lip, searching for something to say to him. «I… I've never had siblings, I've never had a real family, actually, but I know nobody can save you from yourself. Killian is lucky to have you, but you can't blame yourself for being the best brother a person could ever desire. I've always wanted a brother like you, but I know you could have never saved me from myself. No matter how hard I try, I will always be broken, but I can surround myself with people who love me. The same goes for Killian. It's not your fault if she's broken him. But he's strong, and if he's faced it once, he will be able to do so again. He just needs time.»

Liam stayed silent for a few moments, reflecting on her words. He didn't seem convinced, but at least he wasn't holding the cup in a deadly grip anymore. «How many times did it work for you?»

She pursed her lips. «I _had_ to make it work,» she easily replied, removing her hand from Liam's wrist. «I had Ruby, but she is like me. Maybe this is why we've managed to stick together for so long without driving ourselves crazy.» Her joke fell flat, she and Ruby had been _forced_ to become roommates and the first months had been tough, really, _really_ tough. The problem was, she missed her so much.

«Is this the reason why you and Killian should get along? Because you're similar?» _Even if it isn't working?_ Was the silent question Emma heard loud and clear.

«As I said, Ruby and I are similar, she knows when not to push it with me and the same goes for me. I know when I don't have to push Killian, when I must leave him alone, but don't you dare think it doesn't hurt me, don't you dare think it doesn't hurt me the fact that he keeps me at arm's length,» she seethed, gritting her teeth. He was pushing her to the limit and she couldn't risk telling him everything.

Emma finished her waffles and gulped down her cocoa, burning her tongue. She left a ten euros bill – it was so strange thinking in euros, now, instead of dollars – and stood. «Thank you, Granny. Liam.»

Without waiting for an answer, she exited the diner and tightened the coat around herself. Liam blamed himself, and she could understand that, but thinking she wasn't enough for her brother, well, that was too much, because too close to the truth.

 _It's the truth, Emma, you're not good for Killian; he's chosen you, but doesn't want you_. She brought a hand to her face, realizing she was crying only when her fingers touched her wet cheeks. She gulped, fighting back the tears. She wouldn't cry, not in public, not ever; she'd already cried enough for Killian, she didn't want to cry because of his brother, too.

Emma wandered for almost two hours, entering some stores to snoop around. She couldn't stop thinking about Liam's words about his and Killian's parents, there was so much to the story she didn't know and wanted to uncover.

She should go back to Neverland House to eat something, or she could decide not to and just meet up with Granny at three, but the woman had almost an animal instinct and would know her stomach was empty the moment she stepped into her view.

On the other hand, Emma didn't want to see Killian again – not that she risked to, apparently, he had a fridge and a way to heat up meals in his study. That, or he was able to stay without food for days.

It was strange, she shouldn't feel so much involved, she shouldn't be so much angry at Killian. She ran a hand through her hair, wondering how she'd ended up like that. She needed Ruby, she needed to pour everything out with someone who understood her, who _knew_. How ironic, the only one in Ireland who knew was the same one that pushed her past the limit of her patience.

She was about to pull out her phone and call Ruby when she heard a whimper. Emma frowned, wondering what it was. She was about to go on her way when she heard it again. It came from an alley nearby. When she lifted her eyes, she noticed she was dangerously near Liam's pub. _Amazing_ , she thought shaking her head and heading into the dark alley.

Looking around, she saw overflowing trash cans with stacked up cardboard boxes. The air became more stinky the nearer she went. The pile of boxes moved with another whimper. Perhaps it was a cat. A rat? She hoped not. Emma gulped, slowly drawing near and scrutinizing the boxes with wariness.

She heard another whimper and hesitantly grabbed one of the boxes, pulling it away from the space under the fire escape, whoever had wanted to make it disappear had really buckled down to it. Reluctantly, she opened the box and had to blink several times, incredulous.

Huddled in a corner of the box was a bundle of skinny and trembling black fur, both cold and fear fuelling its tremors. It looked like a dog, a labrador, maybe, but Emma wasn't an expert. Frowning, she reached out her hand to caress the puppy's head. He couldn't be more than a few months old. Her heart tightened in her chest and she felt her eyes pricking with tears, he – or she – too was a discard, something no one wanted and had preferred abandoning on the side of the road instead of brining it at the nearest shelter – or hospital.

«Hey,» she whispered, brushing the puppy's short and ice cold fur. It pushed its head towards her fingers, seeking her warmth. Emma bit her lower lip and, without thinking twice, she removed her scarf and wrapped it around the puppy, taking it in her arms and holding it tight against her chest. The patch of black fur seemed to drown even more into the white wool searching for heat. She smiled tenderly.

«I'll bring you to Granny, now, she'll know what to do,» Emma murmured softly, caressing the puppy from above the scarf. She stood and exited the alley, ignoring the strange looks coming from the people passing by.

Part of her didn't want to get attached to the puppy, for the other part it was already too late. She'd already given him a name. _Shamrock_. She wondered if Clover was a better name, or Scoundrel. She shook her head. No, Shamrock was perfect. And a bit unusual, maybe – or maybe too predictable, but her life was full of clichés, now.

Luckily for her, she wasn't on the other side of the town. She could've gone to Liam, but after their argument showing up with an hungry and cold puppy wasn't the best of ideas. Besides, Granny was the better choice.

Emma entered the diner, letting the warmth envelope her. Granny's voice reached her from where she stood at the other end of the counter. «I told you at three, not in two hours, if my age isn't the one I think it is.»

Emma couldn't help but blush, striding towards the woman. «I, uh, have found this puppy…» she said, moving the scarf away a little to let her see the puppy. «I thought you knew what to do.»

Granny looked at her from behind the glasses. She was probably wondering why she'd gone to _her_ and not to someone else. Trying to avoid her inquiring gaze, Emma kept brushing the dog's fur. It seemed to be asleep.

«Come with me, I'll call the vet, he'll give it a look.» The woman turned around and led her towards the entryway that connected the diner to the bed and breakfast. Granny made her wait in a little Victorian living room with a fireplace and light green walls. «Some people shouldn't have animals if they have the intention of abandon them. Nor children.»

Emma stiffened at that comment, inhaling sharply. It was the puppy's whimper that brought her back to reality, stopping the waterfall of memories about foster homes that was risking overwhelming her. She lowered her eyes on the puppy, noticing she was holding him too tightly. She loosened her grip, continuing to move her hands all over its fragile body.

«Did you already get attached to it?»

Granny's question didn't take her by surprise, nor did the fact that she wasn't accusatory. Emma smiled sweetly, looking into Shamrock's dark eyes. «Yeah, strays have to help each other,» she murmured, sorrowful.

«I can't keep it, Emma,» Granny warned her. Emma knew it, she knew she would have to take care of it herself, and for a moment she was afraid, yet it was something she _wanted_. She wanted to take care of that puppy, even against Killian's will.

If she'd known, Madame wouldn't have hesitated to punish her. Emma closed her eyes briefly, pushing back the memories of that woman, of that _witch_. She didn't want to think about her, because doing it would mean remembering what she really was, nothing more than a puppet bought as a passing fancy and then thrown away because he didn't fancy her at all.

«It'll stay with me,» Emma said with a faint smile. She knew she was going against everything she'd learned and, probably – _definitely_ – against Killian himself but if he could have his own study to let the steam off, she could have at least one friend to whom confide everything she felt, knowing it would never tell anyone her secrets, couldn't she?

«What name did you gave it?»

«Shamrock.»

Granny chuckled, amused. «Well, he's been lucky to find you, I think another person wouldn't have stopped.»

Emma shrugged, brushing off the compliment as if it was nothing. «I told you, strays have to help each other.»

The woman had the good sense not to reply, disappearing for five minutes before returning with a baby bottle, and Emma held herself back from asking why she had one. «Take it, it's lukewarm. Even though I assume it's been weaned I don't have dog food.»

With a grateful smile, Emma took the bottle and sat on the floor despite the presence of the few chair and the narrow sofa. She had the puppy sniff the bottle and soon enough it latched onto it, starting to suckle.

When the vet arrived, Shamrock had already finished the bottle and Emma had laid it down on the couch, placing her cheek on her arm as she looked at the puppy, fascinated. She hurried to stand, slightly embarrassed, and stepped aside when the man started to examine the puppy. She couldn't stop herself from tensing up every time Shamrock whimpered, worrying the vet might be hurting it.

«You've been lucky to find him, with this cold he would've died soon. He's a lucky little boy, a month and a half old and visibly malnourished. I've given him the first vaccines. Someone could already have thought about it, but given his young age it's better be safe than sorry. I've prescribed him some vitamins, I suggest you melt them in his milk, but give him crunchies, too, and of course keep him warm. Come to my study in two weeks and we'll see how's he doing. His heartbeat is strong, and this little one wants to live, I wouldn't be surprised if tomorrow he begged you to go for a walk.»

Emma shook his hand, grateful for the information. «I can't thank you enough, doctor. How much do I owe you?»

«Ah, no problem, Granny already took care of it. It'll be for the next time,» he said with a wink that made Emma blush, making her uncomfortable. She wasn't used to flirting, she wasn't used to be courted or whatever the term was, _hell_ , she hadn't even been courted by her own _husband_.

She put his business card into the coat's pocket along with the prescription. «I'll see you in two weeks, then.»

After he'd left, Emma brought the now sleepy puppy to her chest, wondering how she could bring him home without moving him too much. She could bring him home, but she was afraid Killian could find him before she had the time to talk to him and she _knew_ she had to put him in front of the fait accompli.

Biting her lip, Emma decided to bring him with her, not caring about the people's strange glances because she had a puppy in her arms instead of a baby. She shivered, trying not to go _there_. Having a dog was different, she knew that, she could be his mistress, she could take care about him, but she couldn't be a mother.

She forcefully pushed away the thought, entering closest the animal shop, the one Granny had gently suggested her. The woman had offered to keep Shamrock with her, but Emma couldn't leave him, otherwise how could she take care of him?

Emma ordered the crunchies for Shamrock and the vitamins the vet had prescribed, noticing how the woman behind the counter looked at the bundle she kept in her arms. «I don't think you'll be able to bring everything he needs at home all by yourself, unless you live nearby or get a taxi.»

«I'll get a taxi,» Emma replied, ordering a few bowls, one for water and the other for the food, the latter covered in black dog's footprints. «Do you have a dog basket? And a blanket, too?»

The woman chuckled, nodding. «I've got everything you need. I could make you a dog tag with his name and both your address and phone number in case he got lost.»

Emma widened her eyes, looking at the silver-haired woman, who moved easily through the shop's aisles, gathering in her arms everything she needed. «I-it'd be perfect,» she stammered.

«He seems too little to already be weaned or sold,» the woman observed, taking a better look at the puppy.

«I've found him just a few hours ago,» Emma told her, scratching slightly behind Shamrock's ear. «Someone had the brilliant idea of leaving him to freeze to death.» _Just like they did me_ , she thought, instantly banishing that thought, it wasn't the best moment to think about it.

«Poor guy,» the woman whispered, staring at him with a look Emma couldn't recognize, almost nostalgic. «What name did you give him?»

At that question, Emma couldn't stop the heating her cheeks. «Shamrock,» she reluctantly confessed, tormenting her lower lip with her teeth. «I know, it's a stupid name.»

The woman's laugh took her by surprise. «Oh, dear, it's not a stupid name at all. Actually, I think it suits him perfectly.» She then brought a hand to her mouth. «Pardon my poor manners, I haven't even introduced myself. Ruth Nolan, it's a pleasure to meet you.»

Emma blinked. _Nolan_? «You know David Nolan?» she asked before she could even stop herself. She flushed in embarrassment; Drogheda wasn't New York, the people there probably all knew each other.

Ruth laughed, amused. She didn't seem offended. «I would certainly say so, since he's my son.»

Widening her eyes and her mouth in surprise, Emma felt herself blush even more, her cheeks hot. «I'm sorry, I would've never thought of ending up in his mother's store,» she stuttered, hesitantly holding out her hand. «I'm Emma Swan… _Jones_ , Emma Jones. It still is weird to me.»

 _God_ , she wanted to slap herself. Why had she been able to have a decent conversation with Mary Margaret and David while in front of this woman she felt like a five-year-old what didn't know how to act anymore, how to act to try and win the love of the next foster parent?

She sighed, trying to placate the urge of taking Shamrock and run far away from there.

Ruth smiled at her as she shook her hand, her skin calloused under Emma's fingers, her skin was one of a worker's, yet warm and somewhat soft. Emma gulped as the woman's smile didn't waver a bit. _I don't deserve any of this_ , she thought bitterly. «David and Mary Margaret told me about you,» Ruth confessed, surprising her. She gently released her hand and returned to her task. «I'm sorry about what happened at the exhibition. I hope you and Killian weren't affected by it.»

 _Of course she knows Killian_ , Emma thought with a sigh. «We're trying not to,» she blatantly lied, and if Ruth noticed, she said nothing.

«Basket, blankets, bowls, food, vitamins, toys, collar and leash. Let me make you the tag and we'll be good,» Ruth said and in less than five minutes Emma was paying all the stuff she'd bought with the credit card connected to the bank account Killian had opened for her. She felt uneasy, just like every time she used it because those weren't money she'd earned, those were dirty money, just like her.

Once she'd paid for everything, Emma tried to understand how to bring everything with her. «I'll call a taxi,» she said, blushing slightly, pulling out her phone. Had she been in New York it would've been way easier, she just needed to wave a hand and a taxi would approach her. In Drogheda it was different, but with the tourism industry blooming, she didn't need to wait that much.

When the taxi arrived, Emma put an end to the awkward silence that had fallen between her and the woman. «Thank you so much for everything. Mrs. Nolan,» she said sheepishly, not knowing how to say goodbye to the woman. She wasn't a simple stranger, Ruth was one of her friend's – no, one of her _husband_ 's friend's mother.

Ruth shook her head, her lips pulled up into a gentle smile. «Don't mention it! And call me Ruth, Emma, I've never liked formalities,» she told her, caressing a sleepy Shamrock before helping Emma with the bags.

The driver, a little man who couldn't stop himself from sneezing every thirty seconds, probably because of some allergy, helped them loading the bags on the backseat.

With a last, grateful smile, Emma hopped on the taxi, holding tightly Shamrock against her chest. She asked herself what she would tell Killian to explain why a labrador's puppy was in his house. Emma knew she wasn't behaving like she should have; if Madame had known, she surely would've punished her, and even if Emma knew Killian wouldn't do anything like that – she _suspected_ it, but she actually wouldn't know – she didn't want to push her luck. Maybe she could give him to someone else. She should've asked Ruth if there was an animal shelter nearby, she could've taken him there.

 _You could try and convince Killian to bring Shamrock to the shelter after he recovers_ , she thought, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. It was worth trying, wasn't it? After all, Killian hadn't punished her after the exhibition, if not with the silence treatment. Not that didn't hurt, but at least she wasn't so attached to him to feel the need of desperately searching his attentions. Or was she?

The taxi ride was short, maybe because the driver desperately wanted Shamrock out of there given his not subtle allergy to dog's hair. Emma felt a little sorry for him, and gave him a good tip after he'd set the bags in front of the main gate.

Only then she noticed the actual logo of the shop, the silhouette of a duckling but with huge, swan wings. It was perfect for the shop's name, _The Ugly Duckling_. Remembering David's words, though, she immediately felt sad. He'd gone _too_ close to the truth: she was garbage who deceived others pretending to be a swan.

After she'd pulled out the keys from her bag, a still unfamiliar weight, she opened the gate. With not so little effort, she managed to grab most of the bags with one hand while she kept Shamrock close to her chest with the other.

Muttering a string of curses, an habit she _definitely_ had started to pick up since she was here – okay, maybe some of them came straight from Ruby – Emma opened the door, too, her wrist screaming in pain for the weight it was sustaining. She freed Shamrock, placing delicately him on the floor.

Of course, the first thing he did was leaving a puddle of pee on the tiles.

Emma would've cried if she didn't find the scene so hilarious she even started to laugh. «You should've done it on Killian's bed, it would've been better,» she told him with a laugh, stepping around Shamrock's gift and bringing the bags in the kitchen, hopping outside to grab the others as the dog started to sniff around the entrance.

When she returned to him, Shamrock was attempting to climb the stairs. _Smart kid_ , she couldn't help but think with a grin.

Theoretically, Killian wasn't home, she'd heard him leave as she laid in bed, unable to sleep. It'd been days and she couldn't sleep but a few hours, crying herself to exhaustion.

After grabbing the mop from the storage closet, Emma cleaned up Shamrock's mess, who in the meantime had made his way to the fifth step. She arched a brow. «I was kidding, you know,» she said amused, shaking her head.

Once she was done, Emma picked up Shamrock and brought him in the kitchen, placing him down on the floor. She really hoped he didn't decide to mark his territory again. Looking warily at him, Emma put the bowls full of water and crunchies in front of him on a small rug she'd bought specifically for him, bright green with dark green clovers.

She put the bag of dog food in one of the cabinets, hoping there they would be safe from Shamrock. The dog left the crunchies he was sniffing with interest to follow his owner upstairs, something he was still mastering but at least he didn't tumble downstairs. He proceeded to follow her to her bedroom, where Emma set his bed next to her own, covering it with a blanket and several toys.

«And now let's get down to business,» she told him and, seeing him yawn, his little pink tongue curling at the tip, Emma picked him up, scratching him behind his ear before planting a kiss on his head. She also picked up one of his chew toys; as much as she loved him, she didn't want him to chew on the furniture. «We need to find a way to tame Killian, something that won't get him mad. Can't you win him over with your puppy eyes?» Emma wondered with a sigh.

She knew Killian was a good cook, but she also knew he didn't ate at home, or he made something for himself in his study. Or he didn't eat at all. A dinner was out of the question, she would give him the wrong idea, he'd maybe think she wanted to seduce him. A dessert, maybe? As a peace offering?

 _I could ask Liam_ , she thought, but laughed of herself remembering what he'd told her that same morning.

Placing Shamrock down, she entered the kitchen and looked around, searching for cooking books. She found some in a space next the coffee machine, all about different types of cooking methods and food, but Emma's eyes were caught by an old worn-out leather journal. Hesitant – after all Killian might not want her to touch it – she grabbed it, surprised by its weight, and opened it.

On the top right corner of the first page, there were three letters written with a black pen. _A.W.J._ Those probably were Killian and Liam's mother's – or grandmother's – initials.

Placing it down on the peninsula, Emma started to leaf through it, noticing how everything was carefully written, each recipe carefully explained and written down with an elegant and curved calligraphy.

Following her instinct, she searched for the more used pages, finding different recipes complete with notes added in a second time. She suddenly stopped when she read the date of the recipe. March 11th 1989. She blinked a few times, remembering the date written in the file. Killian hadn't specified the year, but now she knew he was 28, so this cake had been for sure for his first birthday.

Her breath caught in her throat, and the rational part of her mind told her to close the journal and do something else, but her instinct had already started to move her body, forcing her to get rid of the coat and leave it on a chair. Emma gathered her hair in a ponytail, freeing her vision, and started to gather all the ingredients. She actually was surprised she had them all.

Before she got her hands dirty, she put on an early 2000s pop playlist, letting the music fill the kitchen. As _Beep_ by Pussycat Dolls started to play, Emma started to follow the recipe, incapable of not moving her hips to the rhythm and humming along. If Ruby had been there with her, they would've baked together, dividing the tasks without even needing to talk, singing instead.

It was the first time she cooked something for Killian and she felt extremely nervous at the thought of ruining one of the – maybe – best memories he had of his mother. She was still in time to back off and do something easier. Emma shook her head, she wanted to go on with her plan. Worst case scenario, he would just ignore her even more, forcing her to more, endless days of silent treatment.

She sighed, going back to working on the shortcrust pastry with her hands covered in flour, remembering not to put too much in the pastry or it would be all crumbly, resulting in a perfect disaster. It was odd, and definitely insane, but in that moment she was glad for her cooking lessons. The moment she saw a perfect pastry, Emma felt proud of herself.

«You see, Shamrock?» she grinned, putting the pastry in the fridge. Emma cast a glance at the puppy, finding him asleep next to the food bowl, an ink-black ear inside it. She smiled, feeling her heart warming up at the sight.

Part of her pouted as she prepared the lemon curd, wishing it was chocolate. In that case, though, Killian would find no cake at all.

As she waited for the pastry and the curd to chill, she prepared a simple grilled cheese for herself, Shamrock still asleep, at ease in his new home unlike her. Neverland House could be a house, but it wasn't a home, it probably hadn't been in years. In her mind, though, she could see it, she could see the house decorated for Christmas, or fill of children's laughs.

Fear gripped her heart, she couldn't think about children, she just couldn't.

In need to fill her mind with other, more innocent thoughts, Emma started to search for a fluted flan tin. She had to open many cabinets and move many pans and pots, but in the end she found it in the back of one cabinet, well-hidden as if someone had wanted to make it disappear but didn't have the heart to throw it away.

Carefully, she folded the pastry over the flan tin, following the instruction Killian's mother – she assumed it had been her – had written down. There were several things crossed out, she probably had tried to bake it perfectly many times until it was perfect. She must have been a wonderful mother.

As the pastry was in the oven, Emma tried not to wonder why Killian hadn't already returned. Truth was, despite their actual situation, she _wanted_ to see him. Part of her, a small and insignificant one, the same one that had miraculously stayed intact after she'd been broken by Madame, wanted to find comfort in his arms, in his touches, in his kisses.

She was a fool for thinking that Killian could feel something for her, she daren't hoping that somehow his staying away from her was a way to fight the attraction he felt towards her. It actually hurt even more. Emma wiped away the tears, yet the painful knot in her stomach remained. She should've been used to being rejected, but it was also true that Madame had convinced them that they were supposed to be _desired_.

Killian didn't. Apparently, Killian didn't feel much anyways. Still, she hoped he wouldn't get mad at her, as far as she knew, that cake could even be a bad memory since it was tied to his mother. She wondered if he would ever tell her about his parents despite him not having ever talked about his father. It was obvious his mother was dead, his father, though, might not be.

Emma shook her head, she wouldn't help anybody acting like that, curious and curiouser. A cake would do. He could eat it, if he wanted, or throw it away, smash it against the wall; asking too many questions would just enlarge the abyss already existing between them.

As the pastry cooled down, she prepared the meringue, adding, as the recipe said, a pinch of zest. Emma wouldn't dare questioning Killian's mother.

Without thinking too much about it, she finished off the cake with the lemon curd and then the meringue, giving it a fluffy appearance. She put it in the oven, cleaning everything up afterwards, the music a welcome distraction yet her thoughts kept nagging at her.

With a sigh, Emma sat down on the floor, circling her knees with her arms as a sweet smell filled the kitchen. Her stomach roared. She wondered if Killian's would, too.

She forced himself not to think about it, though it was difficult when her wedding ring caught the light and seemed to persecute her. She grit her teeth, wanting to kick herself at the thought of seducing him. She _could_ have, she could have seduced him, after all she knew all the tricks of the trade, she could make herself desirable, hell, she could even jump him and tie him to the bed. _This would be sexual assault_ , a voice in her head, definitely similar to Ruby's, remembered her. Emma snorted.

What she couldn't understand, though, was from where this desire of sleeping with Killian came from. Had it been the wonderful orgasm she'd felt some evenings before, maybe? Whoever knew about what she'd had to endure when at Madame's would be surprised of her desire to sleep with a man who had bought her, and she was, too. She hit her head against the wood of the cabined behind her; she was a lost cause.

Yes, it would be easy for her, but she had also to keep in mind that Killian didn't want her, or maybe he wanted her only when he was drunk, just like the other night. It wasn't the first time she wondered what was wrong with her, what pushed people to leave her as if she had the plague. Her parents had abandoned her, numerous foster families had abandoned her, and she obviously couldn't say Madame had ever considered her as part of something that wasn't strictly business. And now her husband had abandoned her, too.

She would like to speak to him as they did at the exhibition, when everything was easier, more relaxing, just… _normal_. When she didn't remind herself that she was his property, Emma almost felt at his same level.

A lone tear ran down her cheek. She blinked rapidly to stop herself from shedding even more tears. More than likely, she had cried more because of Killian in the last few days than because of her own situation over the years. No, maybe she had not, but this was a different kind of pain, another type of rejection she thought she would never experience, Madame had always promised her that someone would want her, someday.

Emma gulped, wondering if she could really seduce him. It wasn't a bad idea, after all, and she _wanted_ him, she wanted to feel desired by Killian. She couldn't help it. Maybe it was some kind of spell, maybe it was the Jones' charm, yet… As cliché as it sounded, she felt like a typical teenager disappointed by her first crush. Too bad she didn't know what a teenager at her first crush felt, when she was thirteen she had to grow up in just a few months to not be submerged by what was happening to her, to try not to end up completely broken. How could she, though, a thirteen-year-old, face such a cruel world?

The beeping of the timer brought her back to reality. Emma stood, noticing with a proud smile that the meringue wasn't burnt, on the contrary it seemed to be of a deliciously golden shade. She took the pie out of the oven and placing it on the glass cake plate, that one found digging through the cabinets, too. Maybe Killian didn't have the courage to throw his mother's things away but had found a way not to see them again.

She busied herself cleaning up the kitchen, trying to make it look splendid, she wanted to bring it to the usual heavenly splendour that belonged to Neverland House. Another irony of fate: she was in heaven but was living a hell.

Shamrock had woken up and now he kept running between her legs with every step she took. «And here I thought you were grateful after I saved your life,» she grumbled to herself, looking around searching for a dirty spot.

She checked the hour, deciding to make a mug of hot chocolate and go read in the library: with music in the background and a good book time would pass quickly. Hopefully. Now that she had Killian's permission to use his collection, she was relieved.

Much to her surprise, she had found an old version of Tolkien's book, something that had woken up her fangirling side.

«Come on, I'll take you outside before bringing you to the library, I don't want to go insane trying to remove pee stains from the carpets,» Emma said softly, petting the dog between his ears and earning a happy sound from him.

Wrapping the cardigan tightly around herself, she waited for Shamrock to acquaint himself with the garden, leaning against the door jamb. The mug of hot chocolate was warming her up. Emma noticed amused how Shamrock sniffed at everything, marking his territory. _He already feels at home_ , she thought softly, a vague smile on her lips, knowing she would fight Killian to keep the dog with her. For a moment, Emma wondered if he'd let her keep him or would be strict in not wanting him.

Maybe Killian would please her because of how he'd treated her.

Shaking her head, she called Shamrock back with a low whistle. Emma wasn't completely surprised he obeyed her. She chuckled as she watched him climbing his way upstairs, wagging his tail at the prospect of following her. She probably should've helped him, after all he was weak and needed his strengths, but seeing him fighting so hard reminded her of what she'd been once upon a time.

Followed by Shamrock, Emma settled on a couch in the library, finding her laptop in its usual spot on the coffee table. With an instrumental compilation playing on YouTube, Emma wrapped herself in a thick pile blanket and lied down on the couch with _The Hobbit_ in one hand. She kicked her booties away, careful not to hit Shamrock, now curled up onto one of the expensive carpets.

Too caught up in her reading, she didn't notice the passing of time, only the fact that she'd finished her chocolate a long time ago but she felt so good and warm under the blanket she didn't have the strength to stand.

Looking down at her wristwatch, she noticed that it was almost eight o'clock. _And Killian isn't back yet_ , Emma thought with a sigh, looking at Shamrock, now lying on his back in a position that made her smile despite the sadness that had bloomed in her heart.

Not feeling hungry, Emma decided not to go downstairs yet, as if she wanted to leave the kitchen spotless for Killian, so her surprise wouldn't be ruined. She continued to read about Bilbo Baggins' adventures until her head started to spin and she decided to rest it against the soft pillow, closing her eyes just for two minutes.

She woke up wrapped in a definitely unfamiliar hot embrace, solid and rum-scented. _Uh, rum?_ , she wondered, squeezing her eyes and snuggling up even more against the source of that warmth, murmuring something unintelligible.

Strangely enough, she felt a slight tremor against her head, the vague sound of a low chuckle in her ear. Still befuddled with sleep, Emma noticed only then that she was not on the couch. Actually, there was nothing beneath her, nothing but air.

Blinking sleepily, she noticed it was dark around her. It must be really late, and she wasn't in the library anymore. Those two minutes must have turned into _hours_.

Understanding that Killian must have taken her into his arms, she couldn't help but stiffen. Since Killian wasn't talking to her, he probably didn't realize she was waking up. Or maybe he had, but decided not to say anything. Therefore, Emma closed her eyes again, trying to relax. One little part of her mind thought that if he noticed she was awake, the magic of the moment would disappear.

 _What magic?_ , she scolded herself. There was no magic, merely a contract, nothing more.

As she leaned her head against Killian's chest, faking a relaxed expression – she was a good actress, after all – she asked herself about the reason behind his gesture. He could've left her asleep in the library or woken her up and telling her to go to sleep in her room. This gesture was unexpected and… _sweet_. Too sweet compared to how he'd treated her in the last days, yet part of Emma didn't want him to stop holding her like that.

He must've found the cake, so this meant he wasn't mad at her – _hopefully_ – and he must have seen Shamrock, since she'd made sure to close the library's door, unless he had hidden upon Killian's arrival…

«Ah, I see you already know the way,» Emma felt him murmur under his breath, clearly talking to Shamrock. He didn't sound exactly angry. Just a bit.

They entered what probably was her bedroom before he carefully laid her down on her bed, leaving her just to grab a blanket he then draped over her.

Trying to seek that same warmth – _his_ warmth – Emma snuggled even more under the blanket, curling up into a fetal position.

Instead of leaving immediately, Killian sat down on the moquette, which surprised her to say the least. Emma kept her eyes closed, she didn't want the bubble to burst. That was the closest he'd been to her in four days.

She felt gentle, warm fingers caressing her cheek, brushing a strand of hair from her face. A shiver ran down her spine, but not one of dread, it was one of pleasure, and if it wasn't pleasure, then anticipation… She must stop reading too much into simple, casual gestures.

«I'm sorry,» Killian whispered, breaking the silence the house had fallen into. «I'm sorry for not talking to you about Milah, you didn't deserve a scene like that. Christ, you don't deserve the life you've lived, the one _I_ 'm making you live. If only I could let you go, let you live the life you deserve, I swear, I would, but I can't. I _need_ you, Emma, and… and I don't think it's only about appearances anymore. But I'm scared, and I don't know if I can allow myself to keep you with me, I'm afraid of destroying you, too. Everyone I care about leave. Everyone but Liam, though I've been living for years in fear that some officials would show up saying that he was dead. I know you can't hear me, you'd probably think I'm a coward for not telling all of this to your face, but I can't, because I'm _afraid_. I'm afraid of losing you, too.»

Digging her nails into her palms under the blanket, Emma did her best not to open her eyes or reach out with her hand to grab his or even hug him.

She felt him release a deep sigh, almost agonizing. «Which is strange, since I don't have any right on you even though I've bought you. God, how much I hate myself for this, for how I've reacted like a stupid coward at Milah's rejection, and I hate myself for making you live this hell, _my_ hell, in the last few days. I thought I was living in a nightmare without seeing you, but I feared your rage. Liam praises me all the time, but I am a coward, especially when it comes to Milah. I hate to feel weak, Emma, I _hate_ it with my entire being.»

At the end of his ramble, Emma had a lump in her throat and had to bite her tongue to stop herself from crying, because she would've never expected Killian to be this broken. She knew he was an orphan, she could see it into his eyes, but she would've never imagined him to be as lost as she was. Emma wanted to hug him, but if she moved everything would go back as it was before.

«And do you know what's absurd? No, not absurd, unthinkable: I would even like to court you. And this is all my fault, because I'm not worthy of someone like you. And I want to be, I really do, but I don't know how to be someone worthy of you, I can't pretend to be good enough for you, not now nor in fifty years.»

Emma heard him stand, his fingers once again brushing her hair in a tender gesture and then, surprisingly, she felt his lips on her forehead. They stayed like that, warm and soft pressed against her skin for a few moments. She suddenly felt cold when he withdrew and part of her hoped he would lie down beside her, knowing all too well it would never happen.

Something else was placed beside her on the bed, though, a soft whine made her realize Killian had placed Shamrock on the bed. She bit back a smile until she heard the door click close behind Killian. Only then she allowed herself to turn around and clutch Shamrock to her chest, letting the tears run free.

For the first time in her life, Emma's tears weren't for her but for Killian's broken heart, just like hers, and for the first time she felt the desire to help him.

She might not be able to fix her own heart, but maybe she could do something for Killian's.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Emma rolled on her side, falling off the bed. «Ouch,» she huffed, her knees hurting, her legs tangled up in the blanket Killian had draped over her the night before.

Fortunately for her, Shamrock had found his way to the other pillow, avoiding being crushed by Emma's weight. Lifting her gaze and moving her eyes from her face, she saw the puppy spying on her from the edge of the bed.

«Umpf,» she muttered standing up and stretching out. She'd slept too well, and too late, since it was already nine o'clock and she usually woke up way earlier. She changed quickly, wearing a pair of leggings and a blue sweater – no, it wasn't because it reminded her of Killian's eyes, not at all.

Emma placed Shamrock on the floor and went downstairs; Killian hadn't thrown her out when he'd come home the night before, so maybe facing him wouldn't result in a disaster. Maybe.

She felt so much lighter she almost started to hum something under her breath. When she reached the kitchen, she stopped suddenly. Killian was there, not sitting on a stool or at the table drinking his coffee, no, he was standing in front of the stove, barefoot with pyjama pants hanging too low on his hips and a way too much tight t-shirt. She noticed, after finally moving her eyes away from him, that he was making pancakes. Pancakes for _two_. _Well, maybe for an entire army_.

Emma gulped, frowning. Had he actually decided to court her? To _try_ , at least? She inhaled deeply, noticing Shamrock feasting on his bowl full of crunchies.

In that same moment, Killian turned around, not surprised at all to find her there. «Good morning,» he greeted her with a smirk, putting the spatula down and turning off the flame.

Her eyes wandering around the kitchen, Emma noticed there was no trace of the pie. She bit her lip, watching Shamrock eat to avoid Killian's piercing gaze. «Hi,» she murmured, wrapping her arms around herself.

«I've made you some pancakes, I hope you don't mind. I know you like Granny's waffles, but I wanted to do something nice for you, especially after what you did for me.»

At that, Emma moved her eyes on him, confused. «I thought you'd thrown it away,» she admitted hesitantly, stepping closer.

Killian blushed, the tips of his ears as red as tomatoes. «Ahem, actually, I brought it at Liam's after closing time, I wasn't able to sleep and thought he could appreciate it. I hope you don't mind.»

«No,» she said, maybe too fast, shaking her head, dumbfounded. «No, I don't mind at all. I thought you didn't like the fact I'd rummaged through your things…» _And your mother's_.

She saw him tense up for a moment, sinfully biting his lower lip. «At first, I wanted to throw it away,» he confessed cautiously, as if he didn't want to scare her, «then I smelled it and I couldn't. You made me remember my mother and… it's not a pleasant memory.» Emma nibbled her lip, nodding slowly. She could understand the pain and the dread of digging up painful memories. Killian was now close to her, his blue eyes trying to read her soul. «You brought me back in time, I didn't think it could be possible. And for this, I'm extremely grateful.»

His gratitude, that she could expect, but the kiss on the hand that followed she couldn't have predicted it, not even in an alternate life. Killian kept his eyes in hers, watching her from under his eyelashes, his lips sensually pressed against the back of her hand.

«I-I'm glad you liked it,» Emma murmured, her mouth suddenly dry.

Killian chuckled, shaking his head, a genuine smile on his lips. He didn't seem like the broken man who'd talked to her sleeping form – or so he thought. «I didn't like it, Emma, I _loved_ it. It was just like the one my mother made, Liam almost started to cry. Don't tell him I told you this, or he'll drown me.»

Emma laughed, stiffening just moments later when she remembered what Liam had told her the previous morning. «You talked to Liam…» she said hesitantly, searching for some kind of rage in Killian's eyes, only finding pure and simple devotion. She was taken aback, butterflies took flight in her stomach.

«He talked about your argument, and he's understood how much of a stubborn arse he's been.»

«Killian,» she interrupted him, wincing slightly when she pronounced his name, «he's your brother, of course he cares about you and tries to protect you.»

He shook his head, his hand still around hers. «This didn't justify him to talk to you like that. Liam has good intentions, but he's pretty unsophisticated, probably because of the years he's spent in the Navy.» Killian placed another kiss on the back of her hand, and alarm bells went off in the distance. _Why is he so affectionate? Does it have something to do with the things he said last night?_ «Come on, now, I've borrowed David's pancakes recipe and I want to know if you like them.»

He gently dragged her with him, making her sit on a stool and placing in front of her a plate full of pancakes – normal ones, with strawberries, with blueberries – and a mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon. He placed on the counter even a bottle of maple syrup and butter, a spray bottle of whipped cream and a bowl of fresh strawberries.

Emma blinked, moving her eyes between the banquet laid in front of her and Killian. «Please tell me you have invited half of the town,» she said, «I'm not a Romanian power lifter.»

She didn't expect him to laugh at her joke, but Killian surprised her once again. She felt herself blush, noticing how domestic that whole scene was. «No, but I wanted to do something nice for you,» Killian admitted with one of his charming smiles that made her pulse race.

Genuinely smiling, Emma nodded, grabbing fork and knife and venturing onto the stack of pancakes she had in front of her. «Mhm,» she moaned at the first forkful. «Okay, I will never complain about your cooking skills.» She threw him a glance, noticing how his eyes had suddenly darkened, just like five days before, when… _Oh_.

«I've noticed you found a friend,» he told her after a while, when both were at their second stack of pancakes.

Emma tried to make herself as small as possible under his gaze, unable to understand whether he was angry or not. He didn't seem to be mad, last night, though… «I found him abandoned in a box, cold and… and I didn't have the heart to leave him there, nor to bring him to a shelter and…»

«Emma,» Killian interrupted her, placing one of his hands over hers, «I admit I'd rather you'd told me first, but I think I can understand what pushed you to keep him, and I'm not angry. I'm glad you want to take care of him.» Killian lowered his gaze, looking down at his feet. Peeking around the island, Emma saw Shamrock laying down at the feet of Killian's stool. «What name did you give him?»

«Shamrock,» Emma replied, biting back a smile. She saw a corner of his mouth turn up, his eyes still on the puppy.

«It suits him,» he commented, amused, distractingly caressing her hand. Heath spread through Emma's body. She wetted her lips, keeping her eyes on him. «I hope he'll put Liam through hell.»

Emma frowned. «Liam?» He didn't want to give Shamrock to his brother, did he?

Killian brought his gaze back on her, a smirk on his lips. «Don't worry, love, I won't separate you from him, but I wanted to take you out to dinner, tonight.» He attentively studied her face, as if unsure of his own words.

Looking in his eyes, Emma understood that it had nothing to do with her wifely duties, but with his courting which he'd apparently already started out. She nodded her head, bringing another forkful of pancakes to her mouth and blushing slightly under Killian's hungry eyes, hungry of her. Her blush deepened when he placed a last kiss on the back of her hand before going back to his breakfast.

Hesitantly, Emma kept her eyes on the plate, telling herself she shouldn't ask him anything. «What are you going to do today?» _So much for not asking_. Whenever she told herself not to do something, she did exactly that.

«I have to go to Dublin for a job interview.»

At that, Emma arched a brow. Killian Jones, renowned artist, was about to go to a job interview?

«At the Trinity College,» he clarified with a smile, as if he'd read her thoughts. «They asked me to teach a class and attend some conferences.»

Emma tilted her head to the side, pulling several pancakes onto her plate and adding a lot of whipped cream and strawberries on top of them. «You would have to move to Dublin, then?» she hesitantly asked, keeping her gaze on the plate.

Killian stood, walking towards her and turning her stool, stepping in between her legs and tilted her head upwards, her eyes meeting his. «Even if I had to spend the whole academic year in Dublin, I'd like for you to come with me.»

She was caught off-guard at that, because he'd not used the word "want" but "like", a wish that gave her a choice. Wetting her lips, she stood, almost completely flush against him, she could feel her breasts push against his chest with every breath, and felt a pleasant warmth spread through her body, pooling in her stomach.

Emma looked at him from under her eyelashes, sensually digging her teeth into her lower lip and putting into practice what she'd learned during the years, placing her palms on his chest, feeling him tense under her fingers. She saw a flicker of confusion in his eyes before she pushed up on her toes and placed a sweet kiss on his lips.

She wasn't even sure _why_ she'd done that, maybe because he'd given her the freedom to choose whether to go with him or not, for what he'd told her last night, which she _absolutely_ didn't hear, but, truth to be told, maybe it was for nothing at all. She just wanted to do it.

After the initial shock, Killian circled her waist with his arms, pulling her tighter against himself, which surprised Emma and let out a giggle against her lips. With one hand she found his hair, intertwining her fingers with the locks at the nape of his neck and pulling slightly, brushing his scalp with her nails.

Killian moaned slightly against her lips, invading her mouth with his tongue and turning her knees into jelly as he pressed his hips against her, making her feel _how much_ that kiss affected him.

She smiled against his lips, pushing her breasts even more against him, rubbing them slightly against his chest, but enough to trigger his reaction. With a sigh against Killian's mouth, Emma pulled away. Seeing him passing his tongue over his lower lip made her knees tremble, the ache she felt between her thighs suddenly intensified.

«I should be back by five,» he said hoarsely, his fingers still in her hair, his body still pressed against hers. «I would like to bring you to dinner at a restaurant not so far from here, as much meat and fish as you want.»

Emma nodded, not trusting her voice. «I can eat everything,» she commented shyly, hearing hesitation in her own voice.

With a sigh, Killian had her looking him in the eyes by caressing her cheeks. «You can tell me anything, Emma, you can tell me if you don't want to go out or if you want to do something. It might be difficult to you to accept, but I don't want to be your master and commander, Emma: I want to be your equal.»

Tears had started to well into Emma's eyes, and with a faint smile she assaulted Killian's lips once again. He smiled, bringing his arms around her and lifting her slightly from the floor.

Killian made her sit on the counter, pushing away the empty plates and settled between her legs, caressing her hips and slipping his hands under her sweater, his wedding ring warm and pleasant against her skin.

«Look at them, little one, aren't them extremely sickening? I'd better cover your eyes, or it might stall your growth.»

Will's voice made them stop instantly. Embarrassed, Emma hid her face against Killian's shoulder, her cheeks aflame as never before. Even though Will must not have been there long – at least long enough not to have heard Killian's words – he'd had the time to befriend Shamrock and enjoy the scene before his eyes while sitting on the floor near the door.

«I knew I would regret giving you the keys to my house,» Killian muttered, briefly pressing his lips against Emma's head, holding her in an almost protective way.

«Oi, it's not my fault if you told me to be here at half past ten,» Will retorted, cuddling Shamrock, who was happy to have made a new friend.

Glancing at the clock, Emma noticed it was almost eleven and smiled against Killian, knowing that somehow it was her fault, too. Amused, she rested her chin over his shoulder. Thanks to Killian's speech she felt freer, not much, but way more than ever before.

«Go, Shamrock and I will find something to pass the time,» Emma told him, softly running her fingers through his hair. «Unless Will wants to abduct him.»

Will huffed, standing up still with the puppy in his arms, who was now trying to bite his fingres. «I could never, I already have Tweedledum and Tweedledee to look after.»

Emma couldn't help but laugh. Killian gave her a last kiss on the forehead and stepped away from her, going to his bedroom to change. She watched him go, shamelessly watching his ass.

«Christ, you're smitten, lass,» Will smirked, coming closer to the island and snatching a blueberry pancake. «Mhm, that one is amazing in the kitchen.»

Feigning resentment, Emma lifted her chin. «What makes you believe that _I_ wasn't the one to make them?»

He laughed. «Because you've done nothing to be forgiven for, the idiot has,» he replied as if it were extremely obvious. Indeed it was, but she didn't like the fact that everyone knew about their fight, she wanted their pseudo-relationship to be something more private.

She grabbed another pancake, digging it into the maple syrup before stuffing a piece into her mouth, licking her sticky fingers. «It's David's recipe,» Emma confessed, holding another piece out to Shamrock, who devoured it in no time at all.

«Are you sure I can't bring him home with me?» Will asked, pushing out his lip in a pout.

«Absolutely not,» Emma replied, her mouth full.

«Pity.»

«You're not thinking about kidnapping my dog, are you?»

«On my honour.»

«Don't believe him, love, his is just a thief's honour.» Killian's voice made him smile instantly, but her mouth suddenly dried when she saw him dressed in a dark suit, the blue shirt making his eyes stand out. Of course the first two buttons were undone so he could show off the hollow of his throat and the dark hair of his chest.

 _Damn_.

«At least there's honour among thieves,» Will commented, keeping feeding pancakes to Shamrock. «But I respect your wife too much to take this little one away from her.»

Killian stepped towards Emma, ignoring his friend and stepped between her legs once more. He'd put on a few drops of cologne, something aromatic and pleasant. «Tonight it'll be just you and me, no brothers or idiot friends.»

Smiling like an idiot, Emma nodded, toying with a lock of his hair. «I can't wait,» she said softly, reaching out to press a kiss on the corner of his mouth, a promise for what, hopefully, would happen that night. Of course, it would if Killian didn't want to wait for the infamous third date.

Killian arched a brow, brushing her lips in a kiss that left her boneless. «See you tonight,» he said, tracing his lower lip with his tongue and stepping back with a wink.

She followed him with almost dreamy eyes. Will made her jump, surprising her with a napkin held near her mouth. «Here, dry your drool,» he said jokingly before handing her Sherlock. «I entrust you with my friend here, make sure not to wear him out, he loves milk and pancakes, but too much sugar will hurt him. Bye, sweetlings.»

Emma couldn't help but laugh, Shamrock focused on biting her hair as she held him close to her, swing her leg as a child.

And she was. She was happy, maybe for the first time in her life, and she marvelled at the fact that, even though she was alone in that kitchen, she didn't feel alone at all.

* * *

«Shamrock… what am I going to wear?»

At least she didn't say she had nothing to wear, because that was a lie. However, she didn't know _what_ to wear for a date like that. She didn't want to be so bold, she wanted to be liked, but keeping a simple appearance.

She huffed, running a hand through her hair. Shamrock wouldn't help her, too focused on sinking his teeth into one of the toys she'd bought for him.

Emma had opted for knee-length dresses, not too long but not too short either. Nothing too revealing, nothing too chaste, something sensual enough to tease Killian during the whole evening.

Sitting cross-legged in the walk-in closet, she watched the clothes hanging from the bars, tempted to bite her nails, something she didn't do since she'd met Madame. She told herself it was stupid to feel so agitated, after all she'd been trained for that kind of things, but Killian didn't want her to follow his orders, he wanted _Emma_.

She closed her eyes, wondering _who_ Emma was. Asking her to look behind the lost girl was almost impossible, she _was_ a lost girl. There'd been a time when part of her awaited for a happy ending, a wish that faded as days without a new family came by.

Somehow, Killian was her new family, he'd chosen her, and had given her a home, and despite the situation, he made her feel safe, he made her feel _home_. Emma shook her head, banishing the thought, it wasn't the right time to think about that, it was the time to get ready for a romantic dinner with her husband.

After one last, long, attentive study of the choices she had before her, Emma chose a dress by Marchesa Notte, of a flesh-coloured fabric covered with a thin bordeaux flower-embroidered lace that covered the whole dress and formed the long sleeves. Satisfied with her choice, she paired it up with red and nude matching underwear, perfect with the dress, carefully hidden by the generous neckline that showed enough of her cleavage to be alluring but not impudent.

She changed quickly, careful not to tear the lace. After a little bit of struggle with the zipper, Emma took time to do her make-up, something simple, using nothing more than eyeliner, mascara and blood-red lipstick.

Still going for simplicity, Emma decided to keep her hair down, accentuating her curls. Looking in the mirror she almost recognized herself, and not because she didn't seem to be the same person, but because she didn't have that broken look in her eyes. Emma knew she couldn't throw herself into Killian's arms, that she couldn't completely trust his nocturnal confession, yet her superpower hadn't put her on high alert, no alarm had gone off in her head. She wanted to trust Killian, she wanted it with all her being.

Holding back a smile, she returned in her room, humming under her breath whilst Shamrock was still gnawing at his toy. She decided not to wear bracelets fearing they would get caught on the lace and the sleeves covered the scar anyway. It was still visible, some kind of an indelible mark that would always make her feel like one of Madame's properties.

She breathed in, trying to get that evil witch out of her head, focusing instead on the night ahead of her. Emma wanted everything to be perfect, she wanted _herself_ to be perfect, impeccable, nothing at all like an escort or a whore. She simply wanted to be Emma.

She refused to wear other rings besides her wedding ring, choosing just a sun-shaped necklace with stones that went from red to purple to pale pink and a pair of earrings by Oscar De La Renta, heavy in appearance but actually pretty light, an explosion of rubies and rose quartzes that recalled the dress.

Going back to the walk-in closet, she sighed trying to choose between all the shoes in there. Madame always sent along dresses and accessories, all latest fashions or not even on the market yet, Madame gave them everything, which made the girls feel even more like dolls.

Emma shook her head, noticing a pair of lace-covered heels and gems on the front, each one capturing the light and therefore creating a game of lights when she moved her hand over them. _Dolce & Gabbana, always a guarantee_, Emma thought, just like Madame had taught her.

It was absurd, even though she tried to get her out of her head and her life, Madame always found a way back, her evil voice whispering fashion advices and teaching her how to become lethally seductive.

She put on the shoes, feeling them so new she would end up having blisters by the end of the evening. She hoped not, she hoped that, at the end of the evening, she would only be pleasantly sore somewhere else.

Looking at the hour on her phone, she noticed it was almost seven. She'd heard Will and Killian coming back around five – Shamrock had heard them, barking in a powerful voice despite his being tiny and fragile so Emma would open the door for him, letting him run to greet his two new playmates. She and Killian hadn't seen each other, Emma too much concerned about what to wear and he in need of a shower, probably.

Emma knew Will wouldn't accompany them, it would be just the two of them. Feeling a thrill of excitement running down her spine, she wore the black coat and grabbed the red purse with everything she needed inside. Breathing in deeply to calm the frantic beat of her heart, she went downstairs, Shamrock at her heels with the toy in his mouth. Oh, Liam would have his hands full with that scoundrel, part of her couldn't help but desire that Shamrock would make him go crazy, even just a bit.

Apparently, Liam was already here, because when Emma reached the top of the stairs she saw the two brothers there, both of them shutting up the moment she appeared. She bit the inside of her lip as she slowly headed towards them, mostly because she still was afraid of falling – and a bit because she wanted to tempt her husband. Shamrock, instead, ran downstairs to go sniffing Liam.

«Ah, so this is the little friend you told me about,» Liam said playfully as he crouched down to get closer to Shamrock. He reached out a hand, ready for the puppy to sniff him, which was exactly what Shamrock did before starting to playfully bite his fingers. Emma smiled to herself, she knew all too well how sharp those teeth were and how much damage they could do.

«A-aye,» Killian replied, forcing himself to look away from Emma to watch his brother as he tried to pick up the puppy.

 _Good boy_ , Emma thought, amused, going towards Killian, almost jumping in surprise when his hand found the small of her back. It wasn't a possessive gesture, or at least not completely, it was a way to make sure she was there, that she was real. She rolled her eyes, she had to stop seeing everything through pink glasses, because it never was like that. Never. Especially not for her.

«Alright, now go, I'll try not to let him destroy the house,» Liam commented, finally standing up with Shamrock in his arms though the dog still had the fingers of Liam's free hand in his little mouth.

Killian arched a brow. «You sure you want to do this, brother? I wouldn't want to receive a call from the hospital in which they tell me my dog has bitten off your hand.»

 _My dog_ , Emma repeated in her mind, unable to hold back a smile at those words. «Everything he needs is in the kitchen. He'll get bored in a while and you won't have to concern about the safety of the house,» she reassured Liam, reaching out her hand to scratch under Shamrock's chin, who closed his eyes, tongue lolling out of his open mouth.

Liam observed her in silence, and Emma couldn't understand what he was thinking, she just knew it wasn't anything good. She gulped, concealing the tension she felt inside with a weak smile.

«Come on, hop hop, I don't want you to miss your reservation,» Liam urged them with a smile, Shamrock had started to sniff his neck, probably tickling him.

«Thank you so much, Liam,» Emma said, opting for a different strategy. She didn't want to seem rude, nor wanted to start a war with him, though she had the sensation that Liam was waiting for nothing else. He had all the reasons in the world to be suspicious of her. Heck, if he'd known who she really was he'd throw her out without thinking twice!

Liam gave her a cordial smile, nodding with a bob of his head. _Apparently, this is the best I could ask for_ , Emma thought, trying not to look too much rueful. Killian slowly caressed her back, as if to cheer her up as he led her towards the staircase.

«Emma!»

Liam's voice surprised her, making her turn around to meet his eyes. She frowned a little, Liam's expression hesitant and torn. «I was wondering if you had another piece of that cake…» Liam raised his free arm to scratch behind his ear, just like his brother did whenever he was embarrassed.

The corners of Emma's lips instinctively lifted up into a smile. «Unfortunately, I don't, but I can always bake another one.»

He nodded, Shamrock now nibbling the collar of his shirt. If he wasn't careful, Liam would have to throw it away. Still, she wouldn't be the one taking the new toy away from her pup. With one last smile, she turned back to Killian, letting him led her to the other side of the house while holding her hand.

Once outside, Killian surprised her, pulling her to his chest and kissing her senseless, not caring about the lipstick he'd end up having on his own lips. While part of her was pleasantly surprised, the other one kissed him back, pushing slightly herself onto her toes and wrapping her arms around his neck. She traced his lips with her tongue, making that kiss even more intense and capable of making her lose touch with reality.

Killian pulled away from her, panting and with shiny eyes, his lips smeared with red lipstick. With a smile, Emma pulled a tissue out of her purse and cleaned them, giving herself time to catch her breath and calm down her heartbeat.

«I've missed you,» Killian justified himself, his eyes dark with withheld passion.

Emma blushed, knowing it was the truth. Nobody had ever told her how to act in those situations, when the words were real and weren't a mean to an end – to get in her pants. Should she lie or tell the truth, telling him she'd missed him, too? Was he expecting that answer?

Killian's fingers brushed her chin, pushing her to lift her head and meet his slightly concerned gaze. «You can tell me whatever floats inside your head, Emma, you don't have to hide from me.»

 _Easier said than done_ , she thought, inhaling deeply to calm herself, her eyes still locked with Killian's, letting him read her soul like he'd done since he'd met her for the first time. «I've missed you too.»

Killian's soft smile made her feel the butterflies in her stomach, one last touching of lips made her knees tremble and she thanked the fact that she was practically holding onto him.

He brought her towards the car, opening the door for her. «Since when are you a gentleman?» she teased him before she could stop herself, not daring to look at him to see how he would react to her joke.

Killian chuckled, clearing his throat a moment later. «I'm _always_ a gentleman,» he retorted, feigning resentment. When she looked at him, he winked at her, closing the door. He sat on the driver's side and started the car, searching Emma's hand. He hesitantly brushed her fingers and she accepted that invitation, intertwining hers to his, squeezing them slightly.

«What's your favourite meal?» he asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. «And hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon is not an answer.»

Faking a pout, Emma thought about it, wondering which one could be her favourite food between all those she'd eaten. «I wouldn't know,» she honestly replied, «but I'm not a big fan of fish. I can eat it, but I'm not crazy about it.»

Killian frowned. «What do you mean with "I can eat it"?»

«Uhm, let's say that, from time to time, they make us eat what we don't like so we get used to it. Some clients love to order for the girls, and they expect us to eat everything and thank them.»

She felt Killian stiffen, the knuckles of the hand that was gripping the wheel suddenly white. Surprising her, he brought their joined hands to his lips. «You don't have to worry about it, from now on you'll be free to eat whatever you want.»

Emma smiled at him shyly, part of her grateful for that phrase, part of her not entirely convinced because she couldn't believe it was happening to her. She had to keep her feet on the ground, she couldn't let herself be bought by his nice words… yet they were _true_ , and this would've made her cry in frustration weren't she able not to do so.

«How about a game of twenty questions? It might take a while before we're there, at least this way we could get to know each other a little.» Kilian seemed to think about his own words. «God, this came out awful.»

Emma nodded slowly. «From what you wrote in your file, it didn't seem you wanted me to know much about you,» she commented trying to be nonchalant. _Let's just say you didn't want me to know anything at all_.

«I've changed my mind,» he honestly replied, and she couldn't help but ask herself _had_ him change his mind. And not just about being sincere with her, but also opening up at the idea of treating her like an equal and not like an object he'd bought, but she didn't have the courage to ask him directly, too scared of the answer he'd give her.

«All right,» she slowly agreed, her eyes wandering out of the window, admiring the game of lights the setting sun created.

«Ladies first.»

 _Gentleman_ , she commented biting back a smile. She wanted to know everything about him, from the most ordinary thing to the aspect of himself he despised the most, but she didn't want to ruin the night, so she opted for a basic question. «Fries or onion rings?»

«Fries, I wouldn't want to risk a violent death because I deprived you of your onion rings, Heaven forbid!» he replied with a chuckle as Emma blushed. Maybe it wasn't her favourite food, but it was a near thing. «Let me see… What movie could you watch a thousand times without getting tired of it?»

«This is an easy one, but I'll have to name three: _The Princess Bride_ , _Ladyhawke_ and _Les Misérables_ ,» Emma replied, remembering how many times she and Ruby had watched them. «Mhm, what did you dress up as for Halloween when you were little?»

She frowned seeing pain wash over Killian's features along with embarrassment. Above all, she saw how the tips of his ears had turned a deeper shade of red. «I had… I _still_ have a thing for pirates,» he began, careful, clearing his throat, «and I've always dressed up as Captain Hook. Liam always dressed up as a naval officer and we always duelled with wooden swords. Suffice to say, I always won.»

Emma chuckled, trying to imagine those two fencing. She wondered if, one day, Killian would want children to whom he could teach the art of sword fighting. She banished the thought, scared of her own mind; that wasn't the time to think about certain things.

«Slippers or barefoot?»

She squinted at him. «Uhm, it depends,» Emma started, remembering that in her past foster homes it was always better to have something at her feet to escape a violent parent who loved to smash dishes and glasses on the kitchen floor before hunting children down with the belt in their fist.

«Emma, Emma, love.»

Killian's voice ripped her from her memories and she discovered her eyes were wet. «Slippers,» she replied with a slightly hoarse voice, smiling a little before continuing: «lately though, going barefoot doesn't bother me much.»

It was her way of telling him she was starting to trust him. Despite him not knowing what she'd endured whilst in her foster homes or at Madame's, Emma noticed the moment he registered the actual meaning of those words. He brought his eyes back on the street but lifted her hand to his lips, a light caress that ignited her skin.

«Tea or coffee?»

«Both, my mother was half-English, so she passed her passion for tea onto me since I was a wee lad. Besides, tea calms me, though I need coffee most of the time. Do you know how to swim?»

Blocking out another wave of painful memories, Emma shook her head. «I never had the chance to learn. Where would you absolutely want to go to before you die?»

«I've seen a fair part of the world: museums, exhibitions, events, I've been in a lot of cities, though I've always found Paris and Venice to be something spectacular. Though, maybe, one of those paradises on earth? The ones you see celebrities going all the time, you know? A vacation there would be amazing. What kind of superpower would you like to have?»

Emma chuckled at that. «Let's say I already have one: I can tell when people are lying. I don't know how to explain it, I just _know_ when someone is telling a lie. Have you ever gone bungee-jumping?»

Killian burst out laughing, a gruff yet melodic sound that warmed Emma's heart. She wanted to hear it more often. «Actually, I did,» he replied with a smile on his lips, «David and I made Mary Margaret go mad with this idea, but in the end she was the one jumping tice. Bathtub or shower?»

She arched a brow, then squinted at him. «You know, I don't think you have reached the right level to ask this question,» Emma told him, holding back a smile when he pouted. God, how she wanted to kiss him. «But I'll tell you this: both have their advantages.» Emma heard him groan, tease him like that was bearing fruit. «If you weren't an artist, what kind of job would you like to do?»

«Naval engineer, though I probably would've ended up following Liam into the Navy,» he replied without thinking about it too much, evidently he'd already considered those jobs before choosing a more artistic road. «Incense or aromatic candles?»

«It depends on the scent and brand; some incenses are too strong whilst some candles aren't. Marvel or DC?»

Killian opened his mouth, at loss of words, glancing at her. «How can you ask me something like that? Both, of course. Marvel, though…» he trailed off, biting his lip.

She laughed, almost knowing he'd reply like that. «Both is good,» she reassured him, patting his arm with her free hand.

«Where would you like to go?»

 _Everywhere_. «If I started now, I'd end tomorrow,» Emma confessed, slightly uncomfortable as Killian turned into a dirt road flanked by trees, some of which were decorated with string lights that wrapped around them in spirals. In front of her, at the end of the road, Emma saw a castle. «You could've told me you wanted to bring me to a castle,» she whispered in awe, her eyes on the high towers.

The castle was medieval, dated back to the 14th century, floodlights illuminated it causing an even more magical atmosphere as if it actually had come out straight from a fairytale book. That, or she and Killian had stepped over a magic barrier that separated a land without magic from an enchanted forest overflowing with magic.

«I could have,» Killian agreed, caressing the back of her hand with the thumb, «but I would've not been rewarded with your expression.»

Still unable to avert her gaze from the castle, Emma opened and closed her mouth trying to say something. If _this_ was his idea of first date, she couldn't help but ask herself what other surprised had in store for the next ones – of course, _if_ he wanted to plan other dates.

«The owners are Aurora and Phillip, but the castle has always been her family's, I think she's the descendant of some princess or something. Don't be deceived by her sweet appearance, she can be a rightful tyrant.»

«Are you going to tell me they met in the forest, too?» she asked amused, throwing him a glance and noticing how different he was compared to last week. He was more relaxed, more at ease around her and he wasn't wearing a mask, which scared her to death.

«Actually, they did,» Killian laughed, parking the car next to a canary yellow Ferrari. The castle was enormous, definitely bigger than she'd assumed from afar. A fountain at the very center of the parking lot created amazing water games.

She was shaken from her thoughts when Killian opened the door for her, reaching out a hand to help her off the car. Grabbing it, she did so, placing both her feet on the gravelled ground, the cold winter breeze brushed past her hair, making her shiver slightly.

Killian pulled her to him, circling her waist with his arm, his gaze on her as Emma kept looking at the sight in front of her.

Behind the closed windows framed with snow white curtains, Emma saw huge chandeliers made of tiny crystal drops, high ceilings covered in old frescos. She felt Killian's lips on her temple and she snuggled against him, in search of his warmth. «I gather I've chosen well,» he commented caressing her waist, something he always did when he held her like that.

Emma shifted her gaze, looking at him and smiling genuinely, maybe for the first time since she'd stepped into his life. Killian had done all that for _her_ , not for the sake of appearances, and for a moment she even forgot he'd bought her, that he saw her just as an object. For the first time, Emma felt like he saw her as a human being.

«You've chosen perfectly,» she replied, clutching his coat. For their date, Killian had chosen another suit, and she was maybe a tad too much happy he'd kept the blue shirt on, the one that made his eyes stand out. He'd kept the first two buttons undone, another thing that made her knees tremble.

With a smile on his lips, Killian escorted her towards the huge staircase, the stone banisters decorated with rambling roses. As they climbed the stairs, Emma could hear music coming from the castle. It wasn't _normal_ music, it was an orchestra. «Please tell me you haven't booked a carriage ride around the castle,» she chuckled, stiffening slightly. She shouldn't say what she didn't want to do, she just had to do what she was told.

Killian stopped them at the top of the staircase, her eyes staring at the cold stones beneath her feet. «Emma,» he murmured, immediately recognizing her distress and caressing her cheek, his touch light, «if you think this is too much we can go home. I don't want to make you uncomfortable.»

Her eyes filled with tears. «It's not that, it's just… I shouldn't be telling you what to do or not.»

Killian shook his head. «You can tell me everything, you don't have to hide from me.» Noticing the way she nodded, so submissive, he sighed. «I'm asking you, _please_ , not to hide from me, _but_ , if you wanted to, there wouldn't be a problem.»

To someone else, those two sentences would sound completely identical, but not for Emma, not for the girl who always expected an imperative sentence, always read to follow the orders she was given the moment they left her master's lips. She winced slightly. «I said that because all this is… too much for me, I don't deserve it. I'd understand if it were a way to show me off, but it isn't and… I don't deserve any of this.»

Wrapping her in his arms, Killian placed his cheek onto her head. Emma buried her face in his chest, banishing the tears and trying to gulp down the lump in her throat.

«You deserve so much more than a simple evening out, Emma,» Killian murmured. She shivered in his arms, the urge to run and hide in a rotten wooden wardrobe and cry in silence was even stronger than it was before. He kept her flush against his chest, gently caressing her back until she calmed down.

Pulling away from him, Emma gave a hint of a smile, not convincing at all, but at least it was a start.

Taking her hand and pressing it against his lips, Killian nodded with his head towards the giant front door. «Shall we enter?»

They were welcomed by a livered butler who nodded at Killian and took their coats. Emma felt her husband's eyes on her, aware of being elegant, yet maybe not appropriate for a dinner in a castle. She kept her gaze downwards, lifting it just when she heard the sound of heels approaching.

A woman with long loose auburn hair loose and a royal gait headed towards them, a radiant smile on her lips. She wore a lilac dress ending just above the knees, something that made look like an actual fairy. _No, not a fairy, a_ princess _,_ Emma thought, admiring her from head to toe.

«Aurora, it's always a pleasure seeing you,» Killian said, taking the woman's hand a kissing its back, just like he'd done a few minutes earlier with Emma's. She couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy in the pit of her stomach.

«It's always a pleasure knowing you're not dead,» Aurora replied, lifting her chin and feigning resentment. In her eyes shone a challenging light, which transformed into a curious one when her eyes landed on Emma. «You must be the infamous Emma! Killian has told me so much about you.»

Emma felt uncomfortable, she knew she was under examination, yet she also knew that if she'd lowered her gaze she wouldn't pass the inspection. Trying to calm the frantic beat of her heart and smiled. «He's kept hidden his knowledge of such a place. It seems to be in a fairytale.»

She knew she'd said the right thing when she saw Aurora's proud expression. «Yeah, though no one could ever picture him as such, Killian is a romantic,» she joked, playfully elbowing Killian.

Part of Emma couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever brought Milah there, maybe for one of their… meetings. She tried to mask the pain she suddenly felt at the idea with another smile, which didn't convince Killian, though, because he frowned a little, trying to read her expression.

«If you'll to follow me,» Aurora said, preceding them towards what appeared to be the dining hall, a huge space separated from the entrance by modern glass doors that didn't contrast with the style of the castle. Inside it was much warmer and, as that heath warmed her chilly skin, Emma looked around, admiring the round tables covered in white tablecloths whose hems ended just a few inches above the stone floor. The glass chandeliers were definitely bigger than what she'd thought. At the end of the room, as she'd sensed, there was a quintet that delighted the presents with classical music and a few slow covers.

Aurora led towards a pretty secluded table upon which had been set a centrepiece made of red and white roses. «Someone will soon bring you the menus,» Aurora told them before walking away. Emma kept looking at her as she exited the room. Aurora really looked like a true princess, as if it was something natural for her.

Noticing Killian move, Emma turned her head towards him, watching him move a chair. He smiled at her. _Gentleman_ , she remembered as the corners of her lips lifted up into a smile. With her red-tinted cheeks, she sat down, then admiring his figure as he took his place right in front of her, a sparkle she'd never seen before shining in his eyes.

Emma knew she shouldn't be building castles on clouds, she knew all too well what the consequences of childish illusions could be, but in moments like this one it was so difficult not to dream, especially when he demonstrated to be ready to respect her and not to treat her like she was an object. She couldn't help but ask herself if that self-confidence bubble would burst. No, not _if_ , _when_ was the word for it because, one day, Killian would realize how little she had to offer him, nothing if not her body, and how little she was worth.

Though, if it was his desire for her to show him who she really was, she would satisfy him; she would _always_ satisfy his desires.

«At the risk of sounding _extremely_ predictable, you look beautiful,» Killian said, looking at her with such intensity she couldn't help but blush.

«Thank you,» Emma mumbled, smiling shyly, «you're not so bad yourself.»

«I know.»

Emma rolled her eyes at his smirk, still smiling.

A waiter brought them the menus. Emma reluctantly accepted one, remembering that she would have to order for herself. She could do that, she knew what she liked, after all, and Killian would not force her to eat something she didn't want. Of course, he could still go back on his word, but… part of her trusted him not to do so.

It was Killian the first to order when the waiter returned, giving her time to get used to the idea of ordering all by herself. While he'd opted for a fish-based meal, ordering crab rigatoni and pomegranate-glazed mackerel with satsuma, Emma copied just the antipasto which consisted in crostini with mozzarella, chilli and lemon on top, followed by grilled mushrooms risotto and roasted chicken breast with pancetta and thyme. Killian also ordered a bottle of sparkling water, giving her the choice whether to order wine for herself since he had to drive. She turned down his offer; as much as she loved a good glass of wine, she didn't like the thought of drinking alone.

«You really don't like fish,» Killian said with an amused smile once the waiter was gone.

«It's not that I don't like it,» Emma replied, slightly defensive, «but I don't like it that much. I actually prefer sushi, to be honest. And oysters.»

He chuckled. «Oh, a woman of refined taste, I see,» he teased her, reaching out with his hand onto the table to grab hers. Killian felt her jump in surprise, but didn't let go.

Emma smiled shyly, feeling a mix of conflicting emotions inside her: the urge to run and the agonizing desire to melt under his touch. «The only one capable of understand me was Ruby,» she said, hesitant, not sure why she was starting to open up to him, «we used to pinch junk food, from time to time, or some of the bodyguards bought them for us. Of course, Madame knew everything but turned a blind eye most of the times.»

Killian hesitate a moment before opening his mouth. «You and Ruby seem very close,» he commented, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb.

She shrugged. «She's been the closest thing to a family I ever had,» she murmured, smiling fondly at the memory of her best friend, of her _sister_. No one could understand how much blood ties didn't matter better than them.

«Do you know what… will happen to her?»

«She'll likely end up like me,» Emma replied stiffly, «I actually wonder how come she's not been chosen yet, and that I've been chosen first.» She frowned, her eyes still on the tablecloth without seeing it. «Why did you choose me?»

Pursing his lips, Killian averted his gaze. «I think you know why,» he reluctantly said, and Emma couldn't understand if it was because he was ashamed of himself of because he didn't want to talk about it.

She nodded, slightly pulling away to allow the waiter to pour water into her glass. In that moment, though, she'd rather have wine, at least calm her down a little.

«I owe you an explanation…»

«You don't owe me anything,» Emma interrupted him, disobeying another one of Madame's rules. She stiffened slightly, as if worried the woman would suddenly appear.

«I owe you an explanation,» Killian repeated, not bothered at all by her interruption, «but I don't think I'm ready to give you one. It's all still too fresh, though Liam would say I deserved it, that it was a one-way street.»

Emma bit her lower lip. «I think… I think that if you don't regret having been with her, then the time spent together isn't to condemn.»

Killian stayed silent for a few moments, allowing the waiter to place the antipasti in front of them. «This is the problem,» he murmured after a while, and Emma couldn't understand if he regretted falling in love with her or if he didn't know exactly what the time spent together had left him either.

«How was the interview?» One of Madame's lessons was how to understand when change the topic of conversation, and this was certainly one of those moments.

«Good,» he replied, giving her a hint of a sincere smile, «classes begin in April and end in June.» He cleared his throat. «Would you like to come with me? We could rent an apartment or something with a garden, so Shamrock won't go mad.»

Emma widened her eyes, once again surprised by Killian's kindness. Had they been alone somewhere else, she'd have kissed him senseless. She blushed at the thought, but smiled, nodding enthusiastically. Her cheeks almost hurt, knowing there were dimples on them.

«I'd like that very much,» she replied as she started eating the first antipasto. It was delicious, fresh and perfectly spicy, just like the life she'd once wanted, without too many worries but adventurous enough to give her that spark of life she'd dreamed of since she was a little girl.

Of course, she didn't know what she'd do once in Dublin, but the prospect of being there with him filled her with a sensation she couldn't name. She wondered if, one day, she could get a job, but at the same time she dreaded that day. Emma didn't know how to do anything; all her qualifications were a fraud.

«Have you ever thought about continue with your studies?» Killian's voice was extremely cautious and her heart clenched at the thought that he didn't want to scare her with his question.

Actually, she'd never thought about it. She was scared, her GED was more of a formality than an actual qualification or a base for future studies even though she'd followed every lesson and got high grades. So yeah, it was a well-deserved diploma, yet it didn't feel like it was _hers_. «When I was little I dreamed that my parents would find me and would tell me I actually was a princess,» she confided with a small smile, changing topic once more but giving him an answer at the same time. «I've stopped having dreams like this, of course, no one ever came for me.» _Apart from Madame_.

He furrowed his brows. «What about the adoption papers? Or your birth certificate?» Killian asked her softly, trying not to put any pressure on her.

Emma shook her head. «Everything about us is classified, and only Madame knows what's inside our files. I think she put them in a safety deposit box, or she pretends to and actually burns them, I have no idea, mine are just speculations.» She drank another gulp of water, once gain wishing it was wine. «Besides, I've never been adopted, nor there was any kind of birth certificate. A boy found me on the side of the road in Maine a few hours after my birth.»

She didn't dare lift her gaze, she just wanted to disappear, not knowing why she'd told him all that. Well, he should've already known, it was all written in her file. Saying it out loud, though, had cost her an enormous effort, because it meant admitting she was no one. The only thing she was certain of was her name, Emma, but for years she'd had a surname that wasn't hers, though a chosen one, and now she had another she still couldn't feel like _hers_. Her whole life was a lie. A beautiful lie, okay, but a lie nonetheless.

Killian's hand closed over her, and her eyes automatically met his, void of the pity or disgust Emma thought she'd find. No, in his eyes there was something more akin to… acceptance. _And anger_ , she added, noticing however that his rage wasn't aimed at her, but at something else. Or rather, at _someone_ else.

«No one deserves to be abandoned, especially not someone like you,» Killian murmured, bringing her hand to his lips.

 _Neither did you_ , she almost replied because, somehow, she _knew_ it hadn't been just his mother's death to turn Killian into the person he was today.

The remainder of the evening flew by between various questions, most of them about Killian because of the way he described everything he'd done, everything he'd seen during his voyages. Emma could listen to him for hours as he talked about the details no one else could seem to notice, finding adjectives appropriate for the lips of one of Jane Austen's gentlemen, though he gesticulated so to emphasize every word, his eyes lit up in excitement.

She was enraptured by his warm voice, his accent thickening every time he was excited about something. He was describing the world to a person who knew very little about it, and he was doing so through the eyes of someone capable of seeing the beauty of it, through the eyes of someone who'd been able of seeing the beauty in _her_.

«You keep doing that,» Killian pointed out, interrupting his description of Greece, his eyes focused on her left wrist.

Emma lowered her gaze, noticing she was subconsciously scratching the scar on her wrist. It wasn't swollen anymore, just red because of the signs her nails were leaving on the skin. She jumped as if burned, pulling her hand away and pulling down the lace sleeve.

«I'm sorry,» she murmured, her eyebrows knitted together. She still didn't know why she kept scratching the scar, tormenting the wrist that, miraculously, didn't become infected.

Killian grabbed her hands in his, clutching them lightly. «You don't have to apologize, love,» he carefully told her, in his eyes she could see a glint of anger towards himself. He'd been the one to remove the chip and leave that scar, and he couldn't help but blame himself.

She widened her eyes, tightening her grip, too. «And you don't have to blame yourself,» Emma said before she could bite her tongue. Telling someone else what to do wasn't her duty, but she couldn't bear the thought of Killian feeling that way, as if it was _his_ fault she'd ended up in Madame's clutches.

With a shy smile, he kissed both her hands, staring at her with complicity. «I've got an idea,» he told her before standing up and holding out his hand.

«Did you have a good evening?» Aurora asked them when they left the dining hall to collect their coats. She was arranging some documents but, like the good host she was, nothing escaped her.

«One of the best in a very long time,» Killian confirmed, and Emma couldn't help but stop her heart from making somersaults in her chest because it was _true_.

«This place is amazing,» Emma added, smiling genuinely as she met Aurora's eyes. She noticed scepticism in her look, which didn't surprise her since she already was when they'd met earlier, but Emma was used to it, or at least she thought she was. «It's an experience I never thought I could live.»

Once upon a time, Emma had dreamed that her parents would come to take her home and they would reveal themselves as sovereigns of some minor State and that she was a princess. Unfortunately, her life wasn't a fairytale.

Aurora's gaze softened a little, enough to show herself grateful for her words. «I'm glad, Emma. With it being the purpose of mine and Phillip's work, I can't help but feel flattered.» This time, her smile was genuine.

The stepped out into the cold night, a light sea breeze made shivers run down her legs and she couldn't help but snuggle even more into Killian. Emma let him lead her to the car, where Killian opened the door for her once again. She sat down, trying to find a bit of warmth.

Emma would've liked to kiss him, to feel his chocolate-flavoured lips on hers. She settled against the seat, averting her gaze from him and looking out of the window. Their surroundings were dark and with little illumination until the moment they entered Drogheda, some of the stores already closed for the night. Liam had probably left someone in charge for the night, and Emma's mind couldn't help but go straight to the waitress she'd let her eyes wander a bit too much over her husband's body.

She wondered why Killian hadn't chosen her for a fake marriage. After all, they'd known each other for years, or so it seemed, and for that girl becoming Killian's wife wouldn't be a problem, even if just for show, as long as she could enjoy his body. Emma frowned, knowing that she didn't… enjoy his body either, unless you counted dry humping, but the question still stood: why _buy_ a wife when he could save money and give a touch of truthfulness to his story?

Emma was so absorbed in her own thoughts she didn't even notice that Killian had stopped the car and was watching her, calling her name several times. She jumped, blushing slightly, caught off guard. «Sorry, I was distracted.»

He smiled, stepping off the car and opening the door for her. It should upset her – she _knew_ how to open a car door – and he didn't do it because he felt possessive, he did it out of kindness, which threw her off.

As she stood, Emma noticed they were in front of a lit up window, the neon sign above it reading _Wonderland_. She arched a brow, looking at Killian. Judging by the name, it looked like, _well_ , a strip club or sex club.

Killian chuckled at her expression, as if reading her mind. «Don't worry, this isn't anything you're thinking of, Jefferson lives in a world of his own and the _Wonderland_ is his study. He's a tattoo artist,» he reassured her, grabbing her hand in his and intertwining their fingers just like she'd seen the coupes in love do. Her breath caught in her throat.

«Y-you want me to have a tattoo?» she asked him, frowning. Not that she wasn't somewhat appealed by the idea, but she didn't know what to do, what could ever mark her skin forever.

«It's not an order, Emma, it's just an idea,» Killian said, coming closer and brushing her cheek with his free hand. «Maybe I should've talked to you first before bringing you here, at least you could've decided…»

«No,» she interrupted him, «no, I… _want_ to do this. It's not just about it being your idea or you allowing me to do it, it's just… wouldn't know what to get tattooed.»

A shadow crossed his face at her mention of a permission, repressed anger shining in his eyes. Clearly, when he'd made the decision to buy her he didn't expect a person so broken she even needed another's authorisation. Killian breathed in deeply, stroking the apple of her cheek with his thumb. «You can get a tattoo of whatever you want, love, your heart's desire. I promise that's all I want you to have.»

Emma looked at him with wide eyes before pushing up on her toes and pressing her lips to his. She smiled a little against his mouth when she discovered they actually tasted like chocolate. Killian buried his fingers in her hair, bringing her closer to him.

«Listen, lovebirds, I'm working, try not to have sex in front of my studio.»

Emma winced, pulling away from Killian and burying her face against his shoulder. Why someone always interrupted them every time they kissed?

«Bugger off, Jefferson,» Killian hissed, stroking her hair, as if he knew how being caught embarrassed her. He placed a kiss on her head. «What do you say, do you want to take this leap of faith?»

She looked him in the eyes, mirroring his smile and nodding.

Leaned against the door, with shirt sleeves rolled up just past his elbows, there was Jefferson, a smirk on his lips and a mischievous light in his eyes. Wandering with her eyes over his figure for a moment, Emma noticed a faint scar around his neck he'd tried to cover with a dark shirt and a neckcloth. She also noticed the tattoos on his forearms, representing a Cheshire smile, a caterpillar smoking a hookah and a name she couldn't read.

«You must be Emma,» Jefferson greeted her, gently grabbing her hand and bring it to his lips.

 _How is it possible that everyone here is a gentleman? Did they come out of a Jane Austen novel?_ Killian's grip tightened a bit around her waist, and part of her basked in that small victory.

«What can I do for you, my dear?» Jefferson asked her, signalling her to follow him inside with a nod of his head.

The interior was something Emma never thought she would see to say the least: squeaky-clean, as if he had obsessive-compulsive disorder, none of his drawings hanging from the walls, just photos of him with some famous actor or a young girl with long golden-brown hair. It felt like entering his home, not a tattoo parlour.

The walls recreated a pattern of red and black diamonds, giving the surrounding space a gloomy appearance though it was illuminated by wall lamps that looked like flowers blooming right out of the walls, each of which was different from the other. On the ceiling, she noticed shortly after, had been painted an extremely detailed hedge maze.

Realizing she didn't give Jefferson an answer, Emma rushed to find her voice. «I need to cover up a scar. Nothing big, just a cut on my wrist, though I really don't know what kind of tattoo to do.»

He nodded as he suddenly turned left, leading her inside what probably was his office. Surprisingly, on the wall facing the door there were shelves filled with… hats. _God, it_ really _feels like being in Wonderland_ , Emma thought, raising her eyebrows slightly.

«I'll show you some drawings, then,» Jefferson said, inviting her to sit in front of the desk. «Do you want some tea?»

Emma refused with a kind smile; she was so full she probably couldn't even drink a drop of water without exploding. She took off her coat, feeling Jefferson's eyes on her and she wondered what Killian was thinking. He must know that was dress was for him and only for him. Breathing in, Emma carefully rolled the sleeve up halfway through her forearm, uncovering her ivory skin and the red scar that ruined it.

«As I said, it's not that big of a problem,» she repeated, trying to convince herself, too.

Jefferson leaned forward, gently grabbing her wrist, studying the cut. «Allow me to disagree, butterfly: a tattoo is a choice, if conscientiously done it embellishes the skin while a scar is not a choice. Not always, at least. There are people who proudly show them and people who try to cover them up. What is important, though, is never be ashamed of what you choose to do.»

Emma gave him a faint smile, too perplexed by the depth and truthfulness of those words, as if he knew what had happened to her. Killian was silent beside her, their fingers still intertwined, the only way he had in that moment to give her strength.

Jefferson handed her a portfolio before grabbing a teacup. «Choose whatever you want, sweetheart.»

Curious, Emma started to leaf through the portfolio. Breathtaking drawings filled the pages, some dark and tormented while others more delicate. «Did you draw them?» she asked Jefferson, the drawings not matching the style of the tattoos on his arms.

Killian let out a strange noise, a mixture between a groan and a chuckle, shaking his head. «Jefferson, you never change,» he said amused. «These, love, are mine. Jefferson's are usually more elaborated and have a romantic touch.»

Too shocked by his words, Emma shook her head, tracing with her fingertips the black lines of an anchor wrapped in thorns and roses. For the first time she was seeing something Killian had drawn and she couldn't help but notice how his torment reflected into his art. «They're beautiful, Killian,» Emma murmured, admiring the details of a goldfinch's wings.

Surprising her, Killian brushed his lips against her cheek, thanking her for the compliment. Emma felt herself blush and forced herself to focus on smaller designs, like lace-winged butterflies or roses or something like…

«This one,» she said, pointing at the most simple and beautiful she'd seen in the portfolio.

Killian frowned. It wasn't something too complicated, just a sketch he'd done to fill the page, nothing someone would ever choose, probably because it was something no one would ever even see. No one, except for Emma.

«Ah, excellent choice, a buttercup as beautiful as the woman who'll wear it,» Jefferson commented, signalling her to move towards a table nearby where needles shone under the lamps' light.

Emma did as he wanted, waiting for Jefferson to begin. Her eyes shifted, searching for Killian, who was looking intensely at her, his eyebrows slightly knitted together.

«So, sweetheart,» Jefferson began, distracting her from the pinching of the needles on the delicate skin of her wrist, «how do you manage to put up with this idiot?»

Emma chuckled, smiling at Killian and winking. «Oh, it's simple, really. What I'm surprised of is that everyone thinks he's difficult to love.»

«Ah, love!» Jefferson singsang, shaking his head, a faint smile on his lips of someone who missed that feeling.

«How is Grace?» Killian asked, suddenly changing the topic.

Jefferson's smile widened and his whole face lit up. «She's all right, and of course she loves the stuffed Cheshire cat you've gifted her for her birthday. Heaven forbids she ever separates from it.»

«Come on, we both know she'll always prefer the rabbit you've sewn for her,» Killian retorted, almost nostalgic, or maybe it was longing; Emma couldn't tell.

This Grace they were speaking of must've been Jefferson's daughter, which explained the name tattooed on his forearm. Not seeing a ring on his finger, Emma deduced he wasn't married, though maybe he'd been and now was divorced or widowed. That, though, wasn't her business.

«And I bet you've already started to glare at every lad who walks within a fifty foot radius near her, am I right?» Killian taunted him with an amused smile on his face.

Jefferson huffed, looking at Killian for a moment, one of his eyebrow arched. «Please, who do you think I am? I started when she was seven.»

Emma distractedly listened to them talking, the pinching pain the only thing that kept her awake while sat in that comfortable chair she could've fall asleep on. Remembering the photos in the hallway, she gathered that the little girl must be Grace. She almost didn't notice Jefferson had wrapped her wrist with a gauze, tying it with a nice bow. «There you are, my dear. Just apply the ointment Killian will give you and there shouldn't be a problem.»

Battling the tiredness she felt, Emma stood up, mentally thanking all the hours she'd spent walking in heels, and smiled at Jefferson. «Thank you so much.»

«It's been a pleasure, butterfly, come back whenever you feel like to mark your beautiful delicate skin once more,» he replied, kissing her hand and winking.

With an exasperated – and completely fake – sigh, Killian helped Emma wear the coat. «Charmer,» he complained, still biting back a smile.

Jefferson escorted them outside, where they said their goodbyes one las time before the couple went back to the car. Once inside, Emma snuggled against the passenger seat, closing her eyes and letting Killian's breath lull her to sleep.

 **First of all, I'm so sorry for the delay! I had my thesis - which is finished, now, finally! - and sometimes translating is tiresome. This doesn't excuse me, of course.**

 **I hope you've enjoyed the date - and oh gosh, I LOVED writing Jefferson! The tattoo is of course the same buttercup Emma has on the show, and I wanted to put it into the story but also wanted it connected WITH the story, hence it being Killian's sketch and Emma wanting a tattoo. I hope it's clear that Killian doesn't push Emma at all: in this story, everything Emma does is her choice and she's not forced to do anything - besides being married to Killian, of course, but Killian will always give her a choice when it comes to** ** _everything_** **else.**

 **Also, thank you so much for every word and following and kudos, it really warms my heart.**

 **If you want to get a better look at Emma's wardrobe for this chapter, come visit my tumblr ( .com).**

 **Until next time!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello! Quick note to say I'm so so so grateful of every word you send me and every follower and kudo(s?). I hope you like this update *eyes looking to the side emoji***

 **Abbie, this is for you ;)**

Chapter 8

Emma woke up with the feeling of Killian lips on her forehead, cheeks and lips. «Mhm,» she hummed, starting to kissing him back distractedly. She raised a hand, sinking her fingers in his hair and pulling him to her, definitely more awake than she was mere seconds ago.

Killian bit her lower lip, one hand buried in her golden tresses and the other one on her waist. It moved lower, towards her knee, lighting up her skin wherever his fingers brushed it.

«I think…» Killian panted against her lips, kissing the corner of her mouth, «I think it's better if we go inside.»

Emma nodded, unable to actually pull away from him. One of her hands moved down to his neck, which she scratched slightly, making him growl. «I think so, too,» she agreed, biting his upper lip and pulling it.

With an enormous effort, Killian pulled away, giving her one last peck on her lips before stepping off the car. This time, Emma didn't wait for him to be a gentleman, stepping off without his help. She strode towards him. Killian took her into his arms and brushed her hair away from her neck, placing a kiss there that made her knees tremble.

Once inside, they climbed the stairs in silence. «Where's Liam?» Emma asked in a whisper, as if fearing he could hear her wherever he was. It was well past one in the morning and Liam could still be awake, which was why Emma didn't feel completely at ease.

«In his room, probably,» Killian replied. He arched a brow, looking at her with malice. «Don't worry, it's pretty far away from yours.»

 _Oh_ , Emma thought, visibly blushing at his insinuation. However, she put on a mask of practicality. «Good,» she commented lifting her chin, an inviting offer that Killian didn't turn down.

He brushed her lips with a kiss once more. They were now in front of Emma's room, a fact that sent a pang of disappointment through her. She didn't know if he wanted to keep her in there just because he didn't want her to see his room or because he didn't want to indulge in… more enjoyable activities.

Killian leaned his forehead against hers, sighing. «I usually don't… pillage and plunder at the first date,» he murmured, almost unsure of how she would take his confession.

 _But we are married_ , Emma thought bitterly. Though, if Killian didn't want her or, rather, if he wanted to be a man of honour, she would allow him to be so. With one last kiss on the corner of his mouth, she stepped away from him. «Goodnight, Killian.»

«Goodnight, Emma,» he told her, kissing her hand one last time and watching her as she opened the door of her room, noticing how she brushed away her hair from her back, showing him the back of the dress. The zipper would probably be a problem for her to pull down.

Emma stepped into her room, feeling a bit defeated but understanding, too. Killian wanted to be a gentleman, he wanted to court her and try to be worthy of her. She understood him, she really did, but she couldn't help but feel undesired once again. It wasn't just that he didn't want to sleep with her, but the way he treated her, as if he wanted to open up but was held back by fear. It was draining but, if the roles had been reversed, maybe she too wouldn't have been ready to bare her broken heart to him.

With a sigh, she removed the earrings, placing them inside the jewellery box she'd left in the walk-in closet. She winced the moment she felt Killian's lips against her neck. Emma sighed, tilting her head to the side to allow him better access. «I thought you were going to sleep,» she murmured, closing her eyes at the feeling of his hands on her waist, bold but delicate at the same time.

«I would've probably ended up thinking about you all night long,» Killian murmured, kissing her shoulder. «I would've tried to forget your perfume, your soft skin, the way you kiss, making me forget who I am, or even remember it.»

«And is it a bad thing?» Emma asked in a whisper, feeling the depth of those words in her bones. She lifted a hand, brushing the nape of his neck and pulling softly at the slightly curling hair there.

He sighed, one of his hands moving up towards her breasts but never touching them. Emma inhaled sharply, desiring to feel his hands there, there in other places.

«I have no idea,» Killian confessed, sucking the skin under her ear, though not strongly enough to leave a mark. «I only know that I can't stop thinking about you. You're like a drug, Emma, and I am a very, very weak man.»

Slowly, his fingers moved to the back of the dress, toying with the zippers. Arching back against him, Emma gave him permission to undress her, to indulge in his addiction. Killian lowered the zipper, uncovering the snow-white skin of her back, memorizing every mole and freckle spread over her skin like a blanket of stars.

He lowered the dress over her shoulders and she helped him by delicately pulling at the lace sleeves, careful of the bandage on her wrist. Emma moved her legs to help the dress fall down around her feet, a vision to Killian's hungry eyes as she stood in front of him with only scrapes of satin and lace and heels that highlighted her slender figure.

«You're beautiful,» Killian whispered in her ear, one hand one her waist while the other rested open on her stomach, going down, down and down.

Her breath caught in her throat when his fingers slipped beneath her panties, brushing the still-covered golden curls. Emma's back arched even more when he reached her clit, digging her nails into his scalp. Instinctively, she pressed her backside against his erection, making him growl, a possessive sound. Killian got his revenge by pressing his fingers against her sex, pulling her closer.

Slowly, he pushed a finger inside her, feeling how wet and hot and bloody tight she was. Emma moaned, his finger inside her too much and not enough at the same time. She wanted more, way more than that, yet she didn't know how to ask him.

Emma shivered in pleasure, a faint moan leaving her lips as Killian pulled his hand out from her panties, bringing it to his mouth. She couldn't see him, but she could hear his breath as he tasted her nectar. «You're delicious,» Killian whispered hoarsely, setting her blood on fire.

Killian made her turn around, meeting her green eyes now shining with desire. His irises were now a thin ring around his pupils. He leaned his forehead against hers, inhaling her scent. «Are you sure, Emma?» he asked in a whisper, giving her one last chance to back out, showing her that, beneath the scoundrel, there still was his true self, a gentleman that didn't buy a woman to be his wife, but one who wanted to spend his time with her, adoring her, ravishing her, _loving_ her.

She put her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him. «I'm yours, Killian,» Emma murmured in response, brushing the tip of her nose against his.

Lowering his head to catch her lips, Killian lifted Emma in his arms; her legs instinctively going to wrap around his hips. Biting back a chuckle, Emma kissed him back, nearly breathless.

Killian laid her down on the bed, her golden hair a halo, her body a delicious feast. Still dressed, he covered her body with his, prolonging the kiss and languorously caressed her hips. Once he settled between her legs, he pressed himself against her breasts, making Emma wonder how it would feel once they'd be skin to skin.

Rubbing her body against his, Emma nibbled on his lower lip, feeling him as hard as a rock against her center. The button of his pants pressed against her clit didn't help. _Christ_ , she thought, panting.

With gentle fingers, Killian lowered first one cup of her bra, then the other, exposing her plump breasts topped with rosy, swollen nipples. Looking at her with a saucy grin, he bent his head, sucking a nipple between his teeth.

Emma moaned loudly, inhaling sharply when he passed to the other nipple, though bringing his hand up to play with the one he'd just left. She pushed her hips up, and Killian bit down slightly harder in warning.

«Your skin tastes like vanilla,» Killian murmured, his lips still moving on her breasts. He made quick work of her bra, which flew to the other side of the room. «You have such a perfect skin, smooth as porcelain and full of stars.»

Emma wondered if his every word actually _had_ to be pure poetry; maybe his art extended to words, too. _His hands and mouth really do have talent_.

Suddenly pulling away from her, Killian knelt on the bed, caressing her legs from the top and down, tickling her lightly behind her knees before moving further down towards her ankles. He pulled off her shoes, one by one, painfully slow. He then slipped up her body until he could press his mouth on the ruined spot on her panties.

«Killian,» she panted, as if she was ordering him to hurry up and stop teasing her.

«Tsk, princess, don't rush it,» he admonished her, amused, hooking his fingers in the sides of her panties, lowering them a bit. He kissed her right hip, sucking a faint mark into her skin, moving then to the other one to do the same. The heels of her feet pressed into his back, which amused him as he playfully bit the soft skin of her stomach, just above her blonde curls, making her cry out in surprise and pleasure.

«Killian!»

This time, it was a plead, Emma was too impatient to be tortured like that.

With a chuckle, Killian tore her panties from her body, _literally_ tore them. Without waiting for her surprised cry to die out, he pounced on her sex, nibbling and sucking where she wanted him the most.

Emma stifled another scream, overwhelmed by passion, a completely different sensation from the one she'd felt that night outside the house. «Oh, Killian,» she moaned, closing her eyes and burying her fingers in his hair, pulling him even more against herself.

She started to push her hips against his mouth so forcefully Kilian had to lay an arm across her stomach to keep her still. Emma felt his laugh reverberate through her bones before he pushed a finger inside her. She brought her hand to her mouth to stop the scream of pleasure and surprise that threatened to spill from her lips; risking waking Liam up wherever he was the first time she was about to have sex? No, thank you.

As if sensing her hesitation, Killian pulled away from her, laying his chin on her lower stomach, his hand still pressed against her center. «If you want me to stop…» he began, curling his finger inside her and causing her to moan loudly.

«Don't you dare,» Emma panted, tightening the grip on his hair and pushing him down, trying to move him back to her aching sex. Killian's light chuckle was muffled by her skin when he went back to torturing her. She arched against him, trying to push him to do something more… «Oh, fuck yes,» Emma moaned when he added another finger, the stretch slightly uncomfortable but not painfully. It made her knees tremble, her feet planted on the mattress.

She'd always thought it would've been her to do something for him, to just be an object of pleasure. His touch was like a drug, addicting; he was _worshipping_ her, not using her. She almost wanted to cry, unable to understand how a person like her could ever be so lucky.

Killian kept up with his sweet torture, slipping the arm he used to keep her still under her thigh, bringing her closer to himself, draping said thigh over his shoulders and allowing him more access to her slick pink pussy, drinking from her as if he was a thirsty man in the desert.

«Killian!» she exclaimed, restraining herself from screaming as she came, Killian's fingers curled up against the spot that made her see stars and his teeth grazing her clit as she tightened around him like a vice, and he couldn't help but wonder how tight she would feel around his cock. Killian grounded his erection against the mattress to ease the pressure, his cock pulsing painfully inside his tight pants.

Emma arched her back, that orgasm completely different from the one she'd experienced when her walls had tightened against nothing. She wanted more, so much more than his fingers inside her.

Killian lapped up everything she had to offer, making sure to look her in the eyes as he did so and after, when she licked his fingers, noticing her blush spread over her snow-white skin, now even more emphasized as she looked at him through passion-dimmed eyes.

Exhausted, Emma fought the tiredness gripping her muscles. Her heart was threatening to fly out her chest and she felt boneless, pleasure still flowing through her veins.

Killian lowered himself once more on her body, kissing her shoulder, then her collarbone, before going back up her neck, the skin there marked with a hickey. He kissed her jaw, tracing with the tip of his nose a line that went across her cheek, placing his lips on hers once more. «Are you sure you can handle more?» he asked, and Emma read the hesitation in his eyes. If he wasn't sure himself, she couldn't – _wouldn't_ – force him.

She caressed his cheek with one hand, feeling his ginger scruff against her palm. She traced his lips with her thumb, not embarrassed at all of being naked under him, as if it was normal, as if she belonged into his arms. «Are you sure you want to do it?» she asked, though it wasn't up to her to doubt Killian's desires, she wasn't the one to decide for him, but since he'd put the decision in her hands, Emma decided to ask _him_ what he wanted to do.

Killian leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. «It's not that I don't want it, love,» he murmured, «believe me, it would be too easy for me to take you right here, right now, but you deserve better.»

Emma shook her head, unable to believe him. Even though he'd bought her, she found difficult to condemn him for that action, not when he wasn't treating her like an object, he almost was devoted to her even if she didn't deserve it.

«Then allow me to do something for you,» she murmured, biting her lower lip, trailing her fingers down towards his chest and lower to his belt. She saw the hesitation in his eyes, as if asking her to do something for him she wanted to do was too much for him. «I want to do it, Killian, I _really_ want to.»

Killian kissed her, his hands letting her free to do as she pleased. Trying to smile maliciously at him, Emma made him roll onto his back, straddling him. She lowered onto him, brushing his lips with hers before starting to work on his tie, throwing him on the side. Part of her wondered how it would feel wrapped around her wrists while the other how nice it'd be to tight it around _Killian_ 's.

Biting her lip to hold back a grin, Emma started to unbutton his shirt, her eyes finally landing on his naked, solid chest covered in soft and dark hair. She untucked the shirt from his pants, noticing how his eyes kept roaming all over her naked figure, his warm hands tight on her hips, as if he was restraining to let them wander.

Killian arched a little, allowing her to slip the shirt off him. Emma devoured every particular with her eyes, every muscle, every imperfection and the two tattoos he had on his arms, on the right one an anchor linked to a wind rose through a thin trail of water with coordinates on the sides, undoubtedly drawn by him, pointing upwards like an arrow that ended on his shoulder, while on the left forearm there was a compass with whirls of water around it. She didn't study it further, hoping she'd have time to do it later. _Much_ later.

She didn't trace those lines with her fingers, that wasn't the right time to study each other's body like that, they weren't exactly lovers. She leaned down to kiss him again, trying not to squirm at the sensation of his chest hair against her sensitive nipples.

As she trailed kisses down his body, feeling him relax under her touch. Emma unbuckled his belt, undressing him of his pants, socks and shoes, her fingers gently digging into his strong thighs. Lastly, she freed him of his black boxers.

Emma moaned at the sight of his hard cock bobbing against his stomach, decidedly bigger than she thought, so long and thick it would fill her up perfectly. Heat pooled in her belly and she fought the urge to rub her thighs together to ease the ache between her legs.

Slowly, just like he'd done with her, Emma settled between his thighs, her long hair tickling his legs, making that torture even sweeter. With a lustful smile, she wrapped her small hand around him, making him moan, sound that didn't help her to just focus on his pleasure.

She tightened her grip slightly, stroking him up and down; with each stroke upwards she swiped her thumb across the head, smearing precum over it. It wasn't enough, she didn't want to make him come like that, no, she wanted to _taste_ him, she wanted to know how he tasted, just like he did her.

Lowering onto him, she licked a long strip on the underside of his cock, right where the fat vein pulsed, she could feel it under her tongue, echoing her own frantic heartbeat. Without heisting, she took him in her mouth, sensing the smoothness of his skin against her tongue, relishing in the way his hips snapped up, as if wanting to bury himself deeper inside her throat.

Trying not to choke on his generous length at his movement, though it was kind of pleasant to see him lose control like that, Emma swirled her tongue around Killian's glans, suckling on it and making him moan her name.

Killian buried his fingers in her hair, gathering it in his fist, though he didn't force her down on his cock. With a last swipe of her tongue, she pulled away from him, looking at him with a frown. «Don't hold back,» she told him, her hand still stroking his cock slowly.

«Don't… don't want to hurt you,» Killian hissed between his teeth, eyes closed and the veins of his neck visibly pulsing.

Emma shook her head. «I need to know what you like, Killian.» She stopped for a moment, dipping her tongue into her slit to lap the bead of precum there. _Delicious_. Killian hissed, his fingers tightening in her hair, pulling slightly at her scalp. «I want to lose control.»

Taking him back in her mouth, she relaxed her throat, trying to get him deeper, just as she'd learned to do, swallowing around him.

«Christ, Emma!» Killian exclaimed, his stomach muscles contracted in anticipation of what was about to happen. It'd never happened to him to be so close to coming in mere minutes, but with her wicked, hot mouth wrapped around his cock he felt like a green lad.

Feeling bold, Emma lifted her eyes on him, showing him how much she liked having him in her mouth, how much she was enjoying herself, how much she wanted him to take her in that exact moment.

Daringly, she used her free hand to slip two fingers inside herself, moaning around him and making him almost jump on the bed. _Good to know_ , she thought to herself, while she brought her wet fingers to his heavy sac, delicately squeezing his bals.

«Fuck!» she heard him exclaim through his teeth. «Touch yourself, love, put your fingers in that tight little cunt.» Emma didn't need to be told twice, dipping the same two fingers inside her with ease, moaning him pleasure once more.

Killian's hips were now moving out of control, searching for that release his body yearned for. Emma continued to suck, bobbing her head up and down, his cock twitching in her mouth with every movement. With a wicked glint in her eyes she swallowed around him again.

Killian came with a muffled shout of her name. She followed him mere moments later, her sex still sensitive from her previous orgasm she'd just needed a few pushes of her fingers and her thumb pressed against her clit to come, moaning loudly around him.

Emma swallowed his seed, enjoying the way he tasted, her eyes still trained on him, watching his chest rise and fall at the rhythm of his breath until he opened his eyes, the pupils completely obscuring the irises now, even darker than before.

Licking her lips, Emma pulled away and lay down on her side next to him, her body pressed against Killian's, their eyes never breaking contact, not even for a moment.

Killian sneaked a hand behind her head, pulling her close to kiss her that allowed them to taste themselves on each other's lips. She moaned at the thought.

«You're bloody brilliant, love, amazing,» he told her, holding her close to him in a warm embrace.

With her head on his chest, Emma could hear his frantic heartbeat. Sighing, she closed her eyes, relaxing into Killian's arms and basking in his warmth until he pulled away from under her, slipping on his boxers and playfully throwing his shirt at her. Emma frowned, but put it on anyway, buttoning up just three of the buttons.

Killian bit his lower lip and ran his hand through his hair before pulling down the covers of Emma's bed, signalling her to slip under them.

Swallowing, Emma followed his order, wondering if he'd join her, if he was _ready_ to sleep with her, if he would hug her or if he'd keep his distance. She felt a weight in her chest at the thought of him walking out of the room after he'd taken his pleasure.

She was so tired she almost forgot about the make-up she was wearing. With a curse, she jumped off the bed, running to the bathroom and starting to rapidly remove it.

An amused chuckle reached her. When she turned, she saw Killian at the door. He stepped closer to her, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her closer. Locking his eyes with hers in the mirror, Killian placed a kiss on her shoulder, his fingers trailing down on her thighs, lifting up his own shirt a little in a teasing way.

Humming at his caresses, Emma finished removing her make-up, loving how his body heat flooded through her, enjoying that domestic feeling she never thought she'd ever experience.

Once all her make-up had been removed, Killian slipped one arm under her knees, making her squeal in amusement. Emma circled his neck with her arms, watching how the marks she'd left stood out on his skin.

Just like he'd done before, Killian placed her on the bed, this time under the blankets and, once he had Emma's permission in the form of a smile, he lay down next to her, circling her waist with his arm and holding her close to him, as if he didn't have any intention of letting her go.

* * *

Emma woke up alone, the side of the bed occupied by Killian almost completely cold, telling her it'd been a while since he'd woken up. _At least he didn't leave the moment I drifted off to sleep_ , she thought to herself.

She opened an eye, checking the time on the alarm clock. It was past nine in the morning, though she felt like she'd slept for a day or so. Emma stretched, feeling every muscle in her body protest. She didn't feel pain between her legs, not that she expected to, since they didn't have sex.

Rolling onto her side, she noticed a note placed upon an ointment and a roll of gauze. She couldn't help but smile at that: he'd remembered her tattoo. Warmth filled her chest, right where her heart was.

Her smile widened as she read the note. _My goddess, I gently ask you to join me – and my idiot of a brother – for breakfast once you're awake_.

With a yawn, Emma rolled off the bed, placing the note in the jewellery box and grabbed a change of underwear and a pair of leggings. Once in front of the mirror, she saw the reflection of a woman whom she didn't recognize. That _couldn't_ be her. That woman was beautiful, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright, a smile worthy of a teenage girl at her first crush on her lips.

At the thought she couldn't help but stiffen. No, she couldn't have a crush on her husband, she couldn't feel anything for him, she just… wasn't able to. Escorting him to dinner, sleeping with him, being servile… those were the tasks she'd been trained to do.

But… Killian, perhaps, wanted something else, something _more_. Maybe they could have a future, something more than just a physical and occasional relationship, something _true_. Of course, Emma couldn't know that, but the real question wasn't if Killian could ever love her, it was if _she_ could love him. How could she, when she couldn't love herself?

She dried off her tears with her hand, moving to open the ointment. Carefully, she unwrapped the gauze, the skin around the tattoo a faint red and extremely itchy. She spread the ointment over it, careful not to scratch it, wrapping her wrist without making a mess of things. The bow wasn't exactly as nice as Killian's, but it would do.

Once she was completely dressed, fastening a few more buttons of Killian's shirt, she went downstairs, where she found Killian intent on making scrambled eggs and bacon, not to mention more pancakes. She went straight to the main stack, snatching one and moaning at the buttery taste it left in her mouth along with… cinnamon?

«Ah, and here I thought you'd come straight to me, instead you're cheating on me with pancakes,» Killian sighed in a mocking tone, looking at her from over his shoulder.

With a smile, she went to him, circling her waist with her arms, grateful he was wearing a t-shirt; after last night she was finding more difficult to resist him, especially now that she'd seen what he had under his clothes. She lifted up on her toes to kiss him sweetly just behind his jaw, noticing with pleasure the hickeys she'd left him peeking out from under the collar of his t-shirt.

Just a few minutes before, in her mirror, she'd seen what he'd done to her, marks on her neck and breasts, even on her hips and her inner thighs, along with red beard burns. At the memory she felt heath pooling in her stomach and she had to hold herself back from trail her hand down to the waistband of his sweatpants.

Whenever she hugged Killian, every fear disappeared, sort of, it was almost as if everything was perfect, as if she was a normal girl and not the wife he'd bought. Sometimes, she even forgot she'd ever been at Madame's, just like the night before, when he spoke of his trips and she desired to visit those places with him.

«I've made you coffee, if you want, or I could always prepare some hot chocolate,» Killian told her, Emma's face rubbing against his shoulder.

Before she could answer, she heard nails ticking on the floor. Shamrock entered the kitchen wagging his tail. He looked healthier than yesterday, or maybe it was because he just was happier and not cold and afraid anymore. The puppy ran straight to Emma, who knelt without thinking twice and took him in her arms, letting him lick her face.

«That pup is the devil,» Liam grumbled joining them in the kitchen, thankfully dressed; Emma was almost convinced that going around the house just in their boxers was normal. At least, with her in the house, they'd had the decency not to do that. Especially Liam, even though he could've just "forgotten" his t-shirt just to test Emma's reaction and her fidelity to Killian.

Shamrock's hungry bark brought her back to reality and she noticed Killian's worried eyes on herself. Faking a smile, she grabbed a pancake and split it with Shamrock, who devoured it in just a few bites.

«Did you get hurt?» Liam asked nodding to her wrist, bags under his eyes and a scorching hot mug of coffee in his hand.

Sinking back into her wife role, she shook her head, smiling a little, amused. «I should be asking you: you look like a zombie,» she teased him lightly, keeping that imaginary distance neither of them wanted to shorten. Emma could see his boundaries and respected them, because, had she been in his shoes, she would've acted like he did.

Liam huffed, running a hand down his face. «After he _gently_ tore a hole into my shirt collar, he went hiding, and I don't know if you've noticed how big this house is. I've spent an hour searching for him in every room. _Twice_. And, in the end, he was here, eating from his bowl.»

Emma laughed, letting Shamrock nibble her fingers. «At least you didn't lose him in the garden,» she said, kissing the top of her pup's head.

«Yeah, well…» Liam started, the tips of his ears red as he scratched behind his neck as he brother did when embarrassed, «… I didn't exactly _lose_ him.»

«He hid from you?» Killian asked, placing one hand on her waist in a completely innocent way.

Placing Shamrock in his arms, Emma poured herself a mug of coffee; she had to appear as normal as possible, especially in front of Liam.

Usually, at Madame's, girls woke up at eight o'clock and had breakfast in a large dining room. Coffee, juices, pastries, sausages, beans – yikes – cookies, eggs, vegetables, fruits, cakes, pancakes, waffles. Yes, it was a good breakfast, she couldn't lie. The meals were good, and for a girl who didn't get to eat so much very often, or didn't eat at all, that was… good. One thing she didn't like, though, were lunches and dinners, when the menu was already decided and they had to clean up their plates.

Here she had more freedom, Killian had been loud and clear, but one thing was saying it, another was staying on the other side, fearing he could go back on his word. Emma would've loved to say he would never do that, but she didn't know him enough, she didn't know who he was and, though she wanted to, she couldn't completely trust him, just like she couldn't trust what she'd started to feel for him.

Drinking her coffee with too much sugar and milk to call it that anymore, Emma grimaced; it wasn't like the one she drank at Madame's, it was even worse. _How ironic_ , she thought with another grimace, banishing the thought.

«Tell me, Emma, do you have a friend to introduce me to?» Liam asked out of thin air, smiling behind his mug. It was a completely innocent question, nothing to do with work or her past or something that could endanger her cover or make her say something wrong.

Knowing Killian couldn't help her, now, she forced a natural smile on her lips and shook her head. «Sorry, Liam, the only one I have is taken and madly in love with her doctor.» She pretended to think about it, taking a sip of her coffee. «And all my former colleagues are married.»

Liam frowned. «All of them? You weren't, though. Was it a requirement to do what you did?»

 _Of course he has to be the detective of the situation_. Emma bit her lip. «Where I worked they'd rather have people who knew how to act around children, who weren't scared of screams or tears and knew how to calm them down and cheer them up.» She cleared her voice, stirring the coffee, the brothers' gazes on her. «They chose me because I understand them.»

After a moment of silence, Liam nodded slowly. «And would you like to find something like that here?»

 _If your brother allows me to_ , she thought. Of course, she _could_ work, she would take every job Killian had told her to take, but doing the same one she'd told she did in the States, well, that was something else entirely.

She didn't look at Killian, who was completely silent; he knew not to answer in her place, which frightened and reassured her at the same time. «I could,» she replied shrugging. «Truthfully, I don't know, right now, I'd take any job.»

«It must've been hard to leave everything and everyone,» Liam commented, putting more pancakes on his plate.

Emma shrugged. «Honestly, the only thing I miss is Ruby. I liked my job, but sometimes… it was difficult.» And Emma really thought so, she couldn't even begin to imagine what it was like to do a job like that, to be in contact with children who would likely never have a home to call their own, children who, once out of the system, would be more lost than before, angry with the world.

Fortunately, Liam seemed to understand, and maybe it was just the aversion he felt towards her that didn't let him feel empathy for her. From what she'd put together, Liam could certainly understand what those children felt, but he didn't want to investigate, not when he hated her just because she was his sister-in-law.

She jumped when she felt Killian's arm circling her waist and he kissed her temple. Leaning into him a bit, she immediately felt relaxed.

Liam cleared his throat, probably trying to came up with an apology, but Killian was faster than him. «I think you'd better drink your coffee, Liam, you don't like it cold.» This said, Killian turned around and kept making pancakes and leaving Emma with a sense of deep gratitude and fear: he'd just proven her she was an open book to him.

They ended their breakfast in silence, the only sound came from the tv in the background. _News_ , Emma thought with a roll of her eyes. At some point, Killian's phone vibrated, signalling an incoming text.

«It's Mary Margaret,» he announced, smiling amusedly at Emma. «Since she doesn't have your number, she's _gently_ asked me to tell you she'll be there in half an hour to go shopping.»

Emma almost chocked on her coffee. A day of shopping? With _her_? Was Mary Margaret sure she was okay? They didn't even know each other, and Emma was supposed to what, be her friend? Confidant? Or was it just pity? No, Mary Margaret didn't look like the type of woman who did something like that but Emma didn't know her at all.

However, Killian didn't explicitly ask her if she was okay with it, so she nodded with a fake smile and went back to her coffee. She sensed Liam's eyes on her, evidently confused, as if that was another mystery he absolutely wanted to uncover so he could tell his brother "I told you so".

Killian, however, seemed worried, but they both knew they couldn't talk about it with Liam there. _How strange, if he knew he'd probably be on my side_ , Emma ironically told herself, just to chuckle a moment later; he'd probably just call her a whore anyway.

Suddenly, as she was lost in thought, Killian's arms circled her waist, making her wince. She craned her neck, looking up and noticing that Liam was gone. She frowned, wondering for how long she'd been out of this world.

«Are you sure you want to go?» Killian asked her, his lips moving on her cheek.

Emma hesitated, wondering if it was the case to expose him his doubts. Of course, he'd said that, if she wanted, she could tell him everything, but what if he got bored of her problems? «I never… I never went shopping with someone that wasn't like me, and never without bodyguards controlling us.» She didn't' ask him if Mary Margaret was sure whether she wanted to go out with her. Probably, if she'd known who she really was, Mary Margaret would probably stay the hell away from her. The thought hurt.

Killian made her turn on the stool, still keeping his arms around her and forced her to look him in the eyes. «Emma, you're a wonderful woman with a tragic past, and I know my words won't alter your view of the world, but maybe I can help you change the view you have on yourself, if you allow me. You're not… a whore or something like that, it's not your fault if that monster has forced you to a life you didn't want and put you on sale like a bloody object. But you, Emma, you're not an object,» Killian murmured softly. «This,» he added, touching her temple and then going down and placing his hand where her heart beat, «and this, especially this, show that you're not an object and that you've never been one, no matter what they've made you believe.» He took her hands in hers, kissing her knuckles. «You are Emma Jones, and you are the most beautiful and pure woman I've ever met.»

Tears threatened to escape her lashes. Lifting the corners of her mouth, Emma smiled at him, grateful, and circled his neck with her arms. When she brushed her nose on the hollow of his throat, a tear ran down her check, followed by another until she found herself being a sobbing mess.

She'd never cried in front of him. Yes, she'd gotten angry, but crying was another matter entirely, it meant lowering the walls that'd always protected what little was left of her, fragments too little and too few to put them back together.

She wanted to run from the confine of his arms, run away from the steady and calming beat of his heart under her ear, but the only thing she was able to do was clutch his shoulder tightly, gripping his t-shirt with her fingers.

Killian caressed her back, holding her against himself and letting her let it all out. Emma couldn't understand how a person like him could be so gentle with her, with a waste of a human being. She wasn't like Mary Margaret, someone who'd found a person to love and loved her in return and had a career she loved. Emma was nobody, nobody loved her – besides Ruby – and she didn't know how to love, not in the way Mary Margaret loved David, if one could ever match a love like theirs, so pure, so _true_. Besides, she wasn't able of doing anything, if not cooking to please her husband, dress up, be a sex machine that knew how to satisfy a man.

When she finished all the tears she had to cry, Emma kept clutching at him as she tried to calm her breath, her throat hoarse and aching as she inhaled Killian's perfume with each breath she took.

He kissed her head. «Better?» he asked softly, caressing her cheeks to wipe away her tears.

Slowly, Emma nodded. She sniffled, completely inelegantly, but he didn't seem to care about it, holding out a tissue to her. She blew her nose, avoiding his gaze until he forced her to lift her chin. «I'm sorry, I shouldn't have acted like that…»

Killian shook his head, sighing. «You don't have to apologize, love, you're still human even though they tried to convince you of the contrary.»

He caressed her neck, brushing a point where he could feel her blood pulse beneath the marked skin. Despite the heaviness of the situation, she felt herself blush at the memory of last night, and part of her couldn't help but ask herself what would happen _tonight_.

«If you're not up to it, I can tell Mary Margaret to cancel…»

Emma shook her head, still hesitant. «I'd better go getting dressed,» she said, unwilling to leave the safety of his strong arms, as if they were a shield against the world's cruelties. Breathing in deeply, she wiped away the last tears and wore a fake smile.

Killian didn't seem happy with it, as if he hated that non-smile, but didn't say anything, kissing her forehead and letting her go change.

She didn't know where Liam had gone, and she wasn't sure if he'd heard what Killian had told her, but at least she didn't meet him as she went upstairs, avoiding another chat on about how she wasn't enough for his brother.

Unwillingly parting from Killian's shirt – which she put under her pillow, though – Emma put on a tank top and a dark blue sweater, swapping her leggings for jeans, slipping socks and ankle booties on her feet.

She didn't bother with make-up, trying to conceal anything that could hint to her outburst, or her nightly activities. She let her hair down in soft curls; it was just a normal day of shopping. Sighing, Emma wondered how she would make it out of that alive; Mary Margaret would probably want information, she would ask Emma about herself, about her past and… Emma hated lying, she'd never understood how much until now, when the life she was living was based on a lie. The only real thing in all that chaos was Liam's anger towards her. She ignored the voice inside her that said everything Killian had ever told her was real.

He knew he couldn't let her go, nobody would understand, and she wasn't ready to face the world on her own either, she would be lost the moment she stepped foot outside to start a new non-life.

Twirling around her wedding ring, Emma noticed how much its weight felt _natural_. It frightened her. She took it off, as if wanting to test a still not completely formed theory, and immediately felt the weight of _not_ having it, slipping it on her finger mere seconds later, sighing in relief.

Was that how a woman in love felt? Afraid of losing the only person who, despite everything, despite being a complete stranger to her, protected her from everything evil even if she didn't deserve it because she was nothing more than garbage, nothing more than a whore?

The doorbell ringing made her jump, bringing her back down on earth and forcing her out of the bathroom, checking herself one more time in the mirror to make sure she'd a perfect mask on her face.

Going back downstairs, she noticed Killian had already welcomed Mary Margaret, who was already in love with Shamrock, the puppy's tail wagging as he nibbled the woman's fingers. Emma took a moment to watch the scene, so normal in her oh so strange life.

«Emma!» Mary Margaret exclaimed with a warm smile, standing and heading towards her, her long jet-black hair loose on her shoulders seemed to glow, too. She was wearing a sweater that perfectly covered her stomach even though, from time to time, when she moved, Emma could see the slight curve of her baby bump.

Mary Margaret hugged her, and Emma hugged her back, a bit clumsily, not used to gestures like that.

«Hello to you, too,» Emma said, smiling genuinely, a hint of shyness in her voice.

«I hope you're ready, today we're going gown hunting, and we won't leave Dublin until we find something fit for the occasion.»

She didn't see _that_ coming. Emma furrowed her brows, instinctively looking at Killian, who blushed, scratching behind his neck. Emma _definitely_ didn't notice how much the gesture drawn attention to the hickeys she'd left him.

«Sorry, love, I should've told you before, but Aurora reminded me only last night and, well, we didn't spend much time talking after dinner.» He had the audacity to wink at her, which made her blush fiercely. Killian cleared his throat. «Every year, Aurora and Phillip host a Saint Valentine's ball during the weekend. The ball is on Saturday, while on Sunday there's a treasure hunt. Lastly, Sunday evening, those who check out on Monday have another dinner at the castle.»

Emma absorbed that information as a million more questions flooded her mind. Why had Killian not told her? Did he really want to go to the ball with her? Or maybe he didn't want to go at all after last night? Or maybe it was exactly that the reason why he wanted to go? Would he have told her if Mary Margaret hadn't brought it up? Would _she_ be there? Would it be another act of revenge?

Shutting up the voices in her head, Emma freed herself from Mary Margaret's hug and wen to Killian. «Ball?» she asked, dominating the hesitation in her voice.

Killian lowered his eyes to meet hers, irises as blue as sea, hesitant, just like the hand he'd placed on her hip. «Something worthy of a fairytale, if you count that it'll be held in an actual castle,» he tried to joke, but Emma saw his hesitancy beneath his mask.

Gulping but painting a smile on her face, she circled his neck with her arms. «Are you really sure you want me to step on your feet all night long?» she asked him, actually asking if he wanted to accept the invitation. Besides, she was a fine dancer, though she'd never danced outside the ballroom where she took her lessons, and never without her instructor leading her.

Killian's smile was almost instantaneous and he held her to him. «It's a cross I'm willing to bear,» he told her, bowing his head to brush her lips with a kiss, putting an end to it before it could turn into something more heated.

Emma bit her lower lip, unable to stop a playful smile from substituting the fake one she wore mere seconds ago, a malicious light in her eyes. «Good, then,» she murmured, scratching him lightly behind his neck, making him wince a little. She pushed herself onto her tiptoes to kiss him one last time, losing herself in that sense of normality for a few moments.

With one last brush of their lips, Emma stepped back and, with her cheeks a deep red, she headed towards Mary Margaret.

«Oh, Snow,» Killian said, still not completely recovered from the kiss, his cheeks red, too, «you and David didn't tell us the sex of the baby.»

Mary Margaret smiled maliciously. «We didn't because you'll find an invitation in your mail box in a matter of day,» she singsonged, grabbing Emma's hand and dragging her to the door, waving at Killian.

Emma couldn't help but smile, that situation was so extraordinarily normal that, for a moment, she felt like a normal person. _Maybe I could pretend to be so for a little while_ , she told herself as Mary Margaret led to the car. She knew reality would present her a steep price to pay, but how much could life ask her after she'd spent most of her life living as a slave?

* * *

«I'm sure Flora and Merryweather will find the right dress for you,» Mary Margaret commented as she led her through Dublin's streets. Emma didn't have a problem keeping up with her, but she couldn't fathom how a pregnant woman could be so chipper.

They'd chatted during the car trip; Mary Margaret had explained what the ball entailed, since Killian had never attended it once. Part of Emma was happy he didn't, yet she couldn't understand how he never did in twenty-eight years of his life, how he never had someone to spend Valentine's day in a castle with him.

Then she thought about _her_ and understood he might have wanted to bring her but he couldn't, because she wasn't _his_. Emma felt sorry for Killian, not because he'd been involved with a married woman, but because he'd bared his soul to her; he must have given her his whole heart and she'd destroyed it, stepping onto its fragments.

Of course, now it looked like everything was better, but they both knew it wasn't; Killian could try to court her, could sleep with her, but she would always be a distraction, the second-best for something he could never have with _her_. And this hurt so much even when it shouldn't have, even when she shouldn't feel any pain at all.

«Are you sure _she_ won't be there?» Emma suddenly asked, making Mary Margaret stop and look at her with a concerned expression.

«Invitations are sent out only to friends and guests already staying at the castle, and of course to couples only. Killian never had a problem with that, it's Valentine's day, after all. It'll be his first time, too. But no, she won't be there, and neither will Robert.» Mary Margaret hooked her arm with Emma's, slowing her pace to better address the issue.

Emma, though, still couldn't understand one thing, maybe the most important, something Killian would probably never tell her. «How did they meet?» she asked darkly, not wanting to have that discussion at all. _You've done worse things than listening to how your husband met his ex-lover, the main reason why you're here_.

Mary Margaret sighed, she'd evidently thought Killian had already told her everything. «They met in a bar, he was searching for fan and she did too, but apparently there was a spark. They started dating, but not publicly, she said she loved adventure and the thrill of a secret relationship was something she'd never experienced before. And Killian, young, naïve, innocent Killian, never wondered why she wanted to keep it a secret. It went on for almost two years, Killian was only twenty-three when it all started, and then all hell broke loose. He started to ask her for more but, in the end, at the inauguration of his first exhibition, she showed up at the arm of her husband, Robert Gold, a very well-known art critic.»

Emma pursed her lips, feeling bad for him. In the end, Killian had just loved without thinking about the consequences, just like it should be, and had been burnt in the worst way by the person he'd given his heart to.

«Gold knows, of course, he's probably always known, but he too has a lover, which made their marriage just a fraud, a marriage of convenience. Both their families are extremely wealthy, however Milah wants to make Robert pay for their son's death.»

Emma widened her eyes at that. «So Milah wants to get her revenge of Gold by stopping him from being with the woman he really loves because she blames him for the death of their son? This doesn't explain why she keeps playing with Killian's feelings.»

With a sigh, Mary Margaret gently patted her hand. «Because she knows what power she held on him, Emma,» she replied, as if it was obvious. Which, actually, it was. «She loves power, she put Killian through hell for years, playing with him and promising him she would leave Robert, something that, well, as you've seen, she never did. When Killian returned from Las Vegas and we discovered he'd gotten married, well, I admit I was shocked, but when I saw you two together I understood Milah had lost every chance to play with his feelings again.»

Emma was stunned by that sentence. _Apparently, me and Killian sell it very well_ , she thought with a pang of regret, because part of her didn't want to pretend at all. Still, it wasn't up to her to decide. «You don't know how much I want you to be right,» she sighed.

In response, Mary Margaret patted her hand once more and stopped in front of a fashion boutique, a light blue dress was exposed in the window; it looked like a wedding dress. «Come on, now, a day of shopping won't solve everything but it won't hurt.»

For Emma, that was her first, _actual_ day of shopping: no bodyguards, no Madame. _And no Ruby_ , she though sadly, and couldn't stop her heart from hurting.

They stepped into the shop and immediately two women – presumably Flora and Merryweather – warmly welcomed them. She noticed in surprise how one was dressed in red, her grey hair elegantly pulled up behind her head while the other was wearing a blue dress, with long black-grey hair braided in a chignon.

«Good morning, ladies,» Flora said, hugging them both and kissing their cheeks. «It's always a pleasure having beautiful girls like you two to dress.»

«Flora, Merryweather, this is Emma Jones,» Mary Margaret introduced them.

Flora squinted at Emma, while Merryweather didn't wait to circle around her like a vulture. «Mhm,» she hummed, stroking her chin thoughtfully. «You've brought us a good sample, Mary Margaret. It'll be a pleasure to work on her.»

Emma made her best not to wince. _None of them is Madame_ , she reminded herself, clutching her bag tightly, _none of you will sell you to the best bidder. Besides, you've already been sold_. She tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.

«Come with us, young ladies, we'll turn you into true princesses,» Flora promised heading towards a large showroom with dressing rooms annexed. All around there were gowns on mannequins and inside other closed wardrobes, along with a lot of mirrors that offered different perspectives to whoever was in the room. Emma felt slightly taken aback; it was the first time she entered a place like that. «I'd say we take care of the soon-to-be mom, then she'll be able to rest.»

Mary Margaret looked at Emma. «You don't mind, do you?» she asked hesitantly.

Emma smiled. «Not at all.»

With a brighter and wider smile, Mary Margaret let the sisters take her measurements. The seamstresses started to almost fight as they tried to settle on a dress for Mary Margaret. They made her try on different gowns, Flora's all shades of red where Merryweather's were blue.

After the seventh, Mary Margaret started to sigh. She was trying on the eighth – _something_ a deep red and that made her look like a BDSM mistress rather than a princess – when Emma stood from the leather armchair, looking at dresses of different colours.

Bright blue was perfect for Emma, just like crimson red, but there wasn't something that just screamed "Mary Margaret". So Emma started to listen to her guts, something in which Ruby was better at than she was, but she was good at searching for a nice dress, too.

Hoping not to get into troubles, she opened one of the wardrobes, making a neon lamp light up inside. There, gowns were of different shades of purple, something Mary Margaret might like. The poor woman behind her was on the verge of tears, she'd burst soon if she didn't step in.

«What about this one?» she asked, grabbing a silk and tulle lilac dress. She raised herself on her tiptoes, ignoring the almost indignant expressions of the sisters as she showed Mary Margaret the dress.

The raven-haired woman stepped down the wooden rise and carefully studied the dress Emma was showing her. It was strapless, and that shade of lilac was perfect against Mary Margaret's snow-white skin. Besides, it was beautiful.

«I'll go try it on,» Mary Margaret said, smiling brightly at Emma, definitely wanting to get out of the infernal dress they'd trapped her into.

Now alone, Emma carefully avoided the women's eyes, probably not pleased with her at all. She shrugged, turning around and searching for something that caught _her_ attention. After all, she wanted it to be special, didn't she? She blushed at the thought, wondering which one of her lingerie sets would be perfect for the night.

 _No_ , she told herself, telling herself that an occasion like that deserved something special, something new.

«I love you!»

Mary Margaret's voice made her wince and it took just a look to see why she claimed to love her.

The dress fit her like a glove, not tight around her full breasts at all, nor the waistline was too low or tight around her baby bump. It looked like it'd been sown for her, and she was perfect for that gown.

«It looks wonderful on you, dear,» Flora said, her hands clutched on her heart as she looked at Mary Margaret step in front of the mirror and started twirling on herself, the soft tulle curling around her legs. Emma bit back a laugh seeing the woman's heart-shaped eyes.

«Now we just need to find an ermine coat for David,» Emma laughed, noticing the dreamy way in which Mary Margaret was swaying, as if she was hearing some kind of fairytale tune and wanted to dance to it.

Merryweather squatted down and searched through the drawer under the wardrobe where Emma had found the dress and went back to Mary Margaret with something golden in her hands. «And to make it special, my dear,» she said, handing her what turned out to be a thin decorative belt she hooked around her waist. When Mary Margaret twirled on herself once more, Emma noticed the front of the belt was formed by two feathers that met without really touching.

Emma smiled widely, happy she'd been helpful. As she let Mary Margaret have her moment, she entered one of the adjacent rooms where more gowns were exposed on mannequins, but none of them caught her attention.

Strangely enough, she was acting as if she was the boss in there when they'd taught her to be submissive instead. Maybe it was the belief she had to be irresistible for Killian that pushed her to act that way, pushing her to do anything to please him.

She opened different wardrobes, worrying her lower lip with her teeth as she tried to see herself in a castle with one of those gowns on. Of course, they all were worthy of a fairytale princess, and she almost laughed; she wasn't a princess at all.

However, maybe, for one night, she could allow herself to be one. Killian would allow her to, or so she hoped.

She stopped dead in her tracks, wondering where all that positivity, all that _hope_ came from. She shook her head; her goal was to find a dress that would make Killian proud of her.

Straightening her shoulders, Emma opened another wardrobe, this one containing pastel-tinted gowns. One in particular caught her attention. Or rather, the decorative feathers on the short sleeves did.

It had a puffy skirt, more than Mary Margaret's but not in an excessive way. It was made of a light blue pastel fabric, the exact shade the shadows had on the snow. The bustier and waistline were decorated with small dark blue shiny gems and silk roses the same colour as the dress.

«Do you want to try it on?»

Merryweather's voice made her jump, but she nodded, unable to avert her gaze from the dress, almost fearing it would disappear if she did.

Carefully, the woman handed it to her, and Emma grabbed it gently. For a moment, a knot formed in her stomach, panic flooding through her at the thought of ruining it or that Killian wouldn't like it. That would be the worst kind of dishonour she could bring him.

Careful not to rip it, Emma changed into the gown, hoping she wouldn't ruin the delicate sleeves and the feathers. It fit her perfectly, surprised because she thought it wouldn't have, especially around her hips since she hadn't done even an hour of jogging and had eaten her weight in food since she came to Ireland.

Once she'd zipped the dress up, Emma looked herself in the mirror of the dressing room and her breath caught in her throat. She didn't care if the hem of the skirt brushed the floor because she wasn't wearing heels, or if she could see her bra's straps because she didn't have a strapless one, or if her hair was a mess. That was the perfect dress.

She twirled around on herself and giggled. She felt like she'd gone back in time, back to when she still was a little girl who hoped to become a princess, when the weight of the foster homes didn't drag her down like a rock tied around a prisoner's feet and buried alive at sea.

Stepping out the dressing room without caring about wearing shoes, the dress light as a feather despite the huge skirt. She gathered the skirt so she wouldn't step on it – or trip on it – not wanting to risk ripping that masterpiece, and soon she heard Mary Margaret's squeal of approval.

«Oh, Emma! It's wonderful!» the woman exclaimed, looking at her with her hands on her heart, as if she was about to see her daughter attend her first ball or something. Emma shook her head at the thought, but still gave her a grateful smile.

Hesitantly, she let her eyes wander on Flora and Merryweather, the two staring at her with a critic eye, studying her to find something to adjust or change to make the gown even more perfect. To be honest, Emma couldn't find any flaw, but she didn't want to anger them even more than she'd already done by choosing the gowns all by herself.

With expert hands, Merryweather started to delicately pull at the fabric. «Oh, yes, we'll need to cut it a bit to make it tighter. You're too skinny, dear. With a tighter bodice you'll make these two beauties stick out for sure.»

Emma blushed deeply; she wasn't used to be praised by strangers. Of course, she knew she had a nice body, her curves all in the right places and her breasts full and not too big, but the only one who ever complimented her body was Ruby. And, well, Killian. She didn't want him to count, though, he was her husband, after all, and he was supposed to say those things, wasn't he? Yet she could read the honesty in his words, which was what made it difficult for her to rationalize every sensation she felt when she was with him.

She looked at the wall clock, perfectly knowing she wouldn't get back to Drogheda until before dinner, but she would have enough time to find a good pair of shoes to match the dress and, maybe, even something to wear _under_ it.

* * *

As if her feet didn't already hurt after a day spent in and out various shops all day long – plus a stop at a Burger King for lunch and a hot chocolate around four in a really chic bistrot – now she had period cramps too, not to mention the fact that her back ached and her legs felt like jelly. And of course it had to happen right before entering a lingerie shop – though it didn't stop Emma from finding what she was looking for between one pained grimace and the other.

With a sigh, Emma pushed the door open and stepped into the entrance after she'd said goodbye to Mary Margaret and thanked her. The brunette was still full of energy and she was _pregnant_ ; Emma really wanted to know how she did it.

Before she could ever think about hanging her coat, she heard the unmistakable ticking of Shamrock's nails on the floor. A smile bloomed on her face.

«Hi, baby,» she said, kneeling just to pick him up and laughing when he started licking her chin and cheeks, his tail thumping against her hip. «Yeah, yeah, I've missed you too.»

Placing him on the floor after giving him tons of kisses, Emma shrugged off her coat and placed the bags on the table next to her and fishing out just her phone, signalling Shamrock to go ahead and guide her to Killian. He'd been with her just for two days and already knew what they wanted from him.

Of course, Emma could've just followed the scent that had filled the whole house, scent that made her stomach roar in an almost embarrassing way she even _blushed_.

She found Killian bent over the kitchen island adding the last touch to a plate full of tacos. Emma's mouth watered at the sight. It'd been _ages_ since she'd eaten one, considered too inelegant for girls like her, just like cheeseburgers and everything classified as junk food. She could probably live on junk food.

Killian lifted his gaze, cleaning his hands on the dishcloth he _obviously_ had draped over his shoulder and headed towards her, taking her face in his hands and kissing her as if he'd not seen her in years instead of hours. Saying she didn't like it would be a big fat lie.

Emma melted under his touch, placing her hands on his waist and gripping his blue night t-shirt between her fingers. On his lips she could taste the unmistakable flavour of chili; he must have stolen more than a few bites whilst cooking.

When he dug his fingers at the base of her spine to press her tightly against herself, Emma moaned both in pain and pleasure as the pressure made the ache in her muscles lessen.

He pulled away, his brows furrowed and his face filled with concern. «What is it? Are you unwell?»

Emma sighed, shaking her head. «No, it's just… I got my period earlier, when I was out with Mary Margaret.» She felt herself blush, the only one concerned with her period had been Madame when she had to keep track of it. «The first day is always the worst one.»

She didn't dare looking him in the eyes, but felt him stiffen anyway. Maybe he had plans for the evening, maybe he wanted to continue what they'd started the night before and her body had thought it wouldn't help her this time.

However, Killian stiffness didn't last long, in fact he hugged her more gently, softly stroking her back. Emma felt the strange impulse of starting purring, but she held back.

«Do you want me to draw you a warm bath?» Killian gently asked her.

Emma thought about it for a moment, shaking her head. Normally, she would say that, if it was what he wanted, she would gladly take a bath, but _she_ didn't want to, she just wanted to eat and spend time in Killian's arms. After, maybe, she could relax with a warm bath.

«What do you think about changing into something comfortable and then we'll watch something in the living room while savouring these amazing tacos? Secret recipe,» he added with a smirk and a wink that made her smile. Sometimes she forgot he was just twenty-eight years old, maybe because a broken heart did that to a person. She knew it wasn't just what Milah had done to him, but the loss of his parents too.

She smiled back at him, lifting herself on her tiptoes to press her lips against his in a chaste kiss before fleeing to her bedroom, where she changed into a pair of sweatpants and a loose sweatshirt. It wasn't exactly fashionable, but it was comfortable, and in that moment she only cared about that aspect.

Joining Killian in the living room – the main one, not one of the smaller ones – and noticed he'd already arranged the pillows on the wide couch, the tray with the tacos on the glass coffee table. Her mouth watered once more.

«I think Shamrock has no intention of letting you have the couch, so I think you'll have to share the other one with me,» Killian chuckled, nodding towards the puppy who had already occupied one of the two couches. Of course, she could still move Shamrock and lie down on the other couch, but where would the fun in that be?

Emma chuckled, bending to kiss the puppy's head before sitting at the center of the couch, wrapping herself in a blanket, looking at Killian with circumspection. «Why, couldn't I just go sit on a chair?» she asked hesitantly.

Killian looked at her softly. «If you don't want to stay next to me I could always share the couch with Shamrock,» he said, trying to hide the disappointment, without succeeding completely. Emma smiled shyly, making him sign to come closer. He didn't need to be told twice, sitting down behind her, his legs outstretched beside hers and a blanket on his shoulders.

Bending forward – and deliciously rubbing her ass against him – Emma grabbed the plate, placing it on her knees. She grabbed a taco and took a bite, noticing how spicy it was, but delicious anyway.

«Do you like it?» Killian asked, his breath brushing her cheek, grabbing a taco himself and devouring half of it in one bite. He definitely didn't care about the spiciness.

Emma nodded. «It's delicious,» she replied with a smile, snuggling back into his chest. «What are we watching?»

Killian grabbed the remote, turning on the tv. « _Lord of the Rings_ marathon, extended edition. If we can make it.»

«Seriously?» Emma squealed in excitement, craning her neck to better look at him. «It's going to take us, what, ten hours? I would never turn down a _Lord of the Rings_ marathon, but we'll never be able to watch all three.»

He placed a kiss on her forehead. «That's why I've made the couch more comfortable: even if we were to fall asleep here, we won't be waking up with aching necks and horrible pains in our backs.» This said, he finished his taco, immediately grabbing another one.

«Mhm,» was all Emma could say as she chewed on the last bit of her taco, the chili lighting up a fire in her mouth while Killian's touch had a warm sensation pool in her belly, a pleasant sensation she felt like she couldn't go without.

With one last kiss on her forehead, Killian circled her waist with an arm, gently rubbing her stomach with circular movements that made her want to purr. _Again_. Oh, yes, she could get used to a life like that one, with a Killian so caring he seemed about to fall in love with her, to a life that, however, was not real.


	9. Chapter 9

**Look at that, an update! I'm so glad this chapter is over, because it means I can finally go back writing it! I know I said this one had nine chapters already completed, but I either went on writing or kept translating. As you saw, the amount of time it took me to translate them took too much. Anyhow, I really, really hope I'll be able to update sooner, though I make no promises.**

 **I hope you enjoy this one, especially you, Abbie ;)**

 **Visit me on twitter at liliumweiss or on tumblr at darkcolinodonorgasm (where I'll put photos of Emma's attire for the night soon).**

 **Thank you so, so, so much for every word and click, it means the world to me there are people who love this fic despite the difficult topic it deals with. Thank you, and enjoy!**

Mary Margaret's house looked more like an old manor than an actual house, and Emma couldn't really complain since she lived at Neverland House, which wasn't exactly a microscopic apartment.

«You've got magic fingers, Emma,» Mary Margaret exclaimed, excited like a child at Christmas while Emma braided her ebony hair, arranging them in a chignon on the side with a braid that circled the crown of her head.

Emma hummed a "thank you", unable to speak properly because of the bobby pins in her mouth. They still had to dress up, but there was time for that, hair and make-up were another matter entirely, decidedly more difficult to accomplish alone instead than it would be with a group of hairstylist and make-up artists. However, they were both lucky Emma knew what she was doing. Which was ironic, since her knowledge didn't come from past experiences, but from hours spent trying to perfectly replicate difficult hairstyles and how to correctly use various brushes and make-ups.

Deciding not to let the pain of her past take over her, Emma straightened her shoulders and finished her work, her lips pressed tightly down onto the bobby pins.

«Perfect,» she breathed, secretly proud of herself as she looked at Mary Margaret in the mirror of the woman's huge bathroom, even bigger than hers. She wondered if there was one as big as this one at Neverland House.

Mary Margaret smiled widely at her. «Thank you so much Emma. If Regina saw what you can do with your hands, she would hire you as hairdresser right on this moment,» she joked, turning her head left and right to better look at herself in the mirror; her pregnancy glow was that last touch that would actually make her the fairest of them all.

«I'm glad I've been helpful,» Emma replied with a genuine smile, moving to remove the curlers that had transformed her hair into soft curls she was about to arrange into a tight chignon save from a few strands that would frame her face. Before she did that, though, she wore a jewelled headband, something she was actually proud of and that perfectly matched the dress.

Looking at herself in the mirror, at the shirt and jeans she was still wearing, Emma lost herself in her thoughts. She knew what would happen that night, a fairytale ending – erotic fairytale, whatever – and she had every intention of looking at her best. If she'd ever attended a public high school, she would be the perfect definition of teenager at her first crush.

Finishing off her chignon, Emma closed the door of the bathroom after Mary Margaret had gone back into her bedroom to change. She spotted the bag containing the lingerie set she would wear tonight, the one that would've caught Killian's attention if she'd worn it before going at Mary Margaret's, making her arrive there late – or not arrive at all.

After stripping herself bare, Emma wore the white lace g-string, fastening the matching corset around her bust from which hung the hooks for the stockings. After all, they'd taught her that heels and stockings were a huge turn-on. She wore the stockings, looking at herself in the mirror from every angle to admire the way the fabric and lace hugged her innocently yet sensually.

With a small smile and her cheeks red, she put on the shoes, simple, closed t-strap sandals that matched the dress. She just hoped Killian would like them.

«Oh, wow,» Mary Margaret whistled smiling maliciously as Emma stepped out of the bathroom, «I'd better be prepared to wash Killian's drool from the tiles. Thinking about it, I don't want to be there when he'll take the dress off you. I just hope he won't have a heart attack first.»

Emma chuckled, shaking her head slightly. «He's surely seen better lingerie than this one, it's nothing special.» The other woman just shrugged, zipping the dress up.

Delicately, Emma took her gown and put it on, trying not to fight with the many layers of tulle and lace that threatened to rip with every movement she made.

If Mary Margaret had noticed how expensive were the jewels Emma had brought with herself, she had the good sense not to say anything. Wisely, Emma had brought with her just what she needed, leaving the jewellery box in the safe in her room, room that had become Killian's too in that last week when they didn't fall asleep on the couch or he didn't hole up in his study until late. Had she brought the box too, Mary Margaret would've gotten suspicious, and Emma couldn't have that. Yes, it was suspicious that an orphan could afford branded clothes and jewels, and she wouldn't insult Mary Margaret's intelligence making her think they were fake, just as she wouldn't let her think she was enjoying her husband's money a bit too much.

Yet, until the woman confronted her, Emma would carry on with her act, doing her best not to dig herself a deeper pit of lies.

After she'd secured the white gold necklace around her neck, Emma put on the small earrings, satisfied with her choice of keeping it all relatively simple. She'd decided to forego other rings, only keeping the wedding ring on, and she couldn't help but wonder how an _actual_ engagement ring would go with the dress. Banishing the thought, Emma refused to think about it any further, it wasn't the right time to think about something like that, nor it would ever bit: she didn't need an engagement ring.

Once she'd helped Mary Margaret with the final touches, the two women wore the long coats that covered most of their gowns, grabbed their pochettes and went downstairs. Emma felt like a regular Disney princess, yet she tried to shut out that sensation, yet when she brushed her fingertips onto the railing as she descended the stairs, her heart seemed to do somersaults in her chest.

Their husbands were waiting for them at the foot of the stairs, both mesmerized by their spouses' beauty, mouths hanging open and eyes wide.

Emma felt herself blush under Killian's gaze, pure devotion transpiring from his cerulean irises, stealing her breath and making butterflies take fly in her stomach. He held out his hand in a chivalrous gesture, kissing the back of her hand when she took it. Shivers ran up her arm and pink started spreading all over her chest and neck.

«You're breathtaking,» he murmured in her ear, brushing her cheekbone with a light kiss. His words made her blush even more.

Killian offered her his arm and escorted her outside the Nolans' majestic house in front of which a limousine awaited for them; Will would attend the ball too with his not-yet fiancée, Anastasia.

Emma sat down next to Killian, adjusting the skirt so it wouldn't be an obstacle and wouldn't rip. She heard Killian gulp audibly as he looked down; following his eyes, she noticed she had uncovered her ankles, showing him her shoes and a portion of the white stockings. With a Cheshire smile, Emma adjusted the gown, patting him on the thigh, intentionally close to his groin. She felt him tense and her smile widened.

Apparently, Killian Jones liked stockings. Oh, she already imagined how he'd order her to keep them on, and her heels too. Emma bit back a moan, feeling herself blush.

«I hope they're stockings,» Killian whispered in her ear, his hot breath caused shivers to run down her spine, the tip of his nose lightly pressed against the thin skin behind her ear.

With a smirk, Emma turned her head, her hand still on his thigh. As she tightened her grip, she brushed the tips of her fingers against the beginning of his erection. She leaned towards his ear, her lips a breath away from the lobe. «Garter belt,» she murmured so low only he could hear her, allowing her tongue to brush against his skin as the spoke. Emma felt him shiver beneath her hand.

«Minx,» he said into her ear, caressing the base of her neck with a hand before pulling away. «Tell me, Dave, how are things at the station?»

Surprised by the unexpected change of topic, Emma felt lost for a minute. Then, remembering they weren't alone, she squared her shoulders and joined the conversation, asking David why he'd decided to become a policeman.

It was interesting listening to him talking about his job, which led her to ask herself what _she_ would've liked to do. She knew Killian – alright, she _hoped_ – would support her every decision. She could look at which courses Trinity College offered – or some other less expensive university – but it all came back to the most important question: what job did she want to do? She could start helping Granny; asking Liam to hire her, even for a bit, was out of the question, she didn't want to beg him for a job. Part of her, the one that hoped in a quasi-normal future for herself and Killian, wished to make her fake past come true. The real question was: would she able to help the orphans when she hadn't had any help herself? Besides, she knew she had to have a little knowledge on the matter, she couldn't just show up in some office, snap her fingers and get children adopted. It wasn't that easy. Nothing ever was.

That night, though, was only about her and Killian.

When they took the long boulevard leading to the castle, Emma noticed the lights had changed, this time of a bright red. Even the floodlights changed colours, going from a deep red to a pale pink without being too ordinary.

More fancy cars and limousines slowly moved in front of the stairway to allow guests to get off them before moving towards the parking lot. It looked as if they'd gone back in time, though cars had replaced carriages. Yet, it wasn't less magical.

The first to get off was David, who then helped Mary Margaret. Killian smiled at Emma, bringing the hand he was holding to his lips. He descended first, holding his hand out for her, and Emma felt like a true princess, not just because of the dress she was wearing or the location, but also because of something she couldn't grasp.

Climbing the stairs in heels wasn't difficult, but with a skirt that didn't allow her to see where she put her feet thrown into the mix it was a challenge. However, she'd learnt how to deal with stairs without looking down at her feet. She held back a grimace at the thought that it was another thing she had to be grateful to Madame for teaching her.

They arrived on top in time to see Mary Margaret take off her coat and David's jaw literally crash onto the ground. A satisfied smile blossomed on Emma's lips. One of the cloakroom attendants headed towards her and her stomach twisted into a knot, anxiety flooding through her. Gulping, she took off her coat, immediately feeling the icy air hitting her bare shoulders, Killian's piercing gaze caressing her skin.

She turned around, noticing his astonished gaze and mouth agape, as if he couldn't believe his eyes. Emma bit the inside of her cheek, waiting for his judgement.

«Emma, you look... wow.»

There was wonder in Killian's voice, as if he'd a magical creature in front of him. Blood rushed up to her cheeks, the blush visibly spreading about her neck and chest.

Killian stepped closer, lips parted as he studied her from head to toe. «Pardon me, lass, I believe I've strayed into a dream, I've never laid eyes on a more enchanting creature. Earth surely isn't where you live. Have I perhaps wandered into the Fairytale Land?»

Even more red in face, Emma playfully slapped him on the arm. «Stop it, Killian, everyone's watching us,» she scolded him quietly, unable of actually being mad at him.

With a smirk, Killian bent to whisper in her ear: «They're all watching _you_ , Emma.» He stepped away with a wink, offering his arm to her before escorting her to the dining hall.

Many tables had been taken away to make space for a dance floor. Emma noticed these were bigger, decorated with flower compositions of white and red roses and… were those _ice sculptures_?

Emma's mouth was agape, unable to make her eyes stop on any detail for more than two seconds. Everything was simply amazing, every detail perfectly studied to make a fairytale ball come to life. She finally had the impression of having actually fallen into a child's book, and the perspective of dancing the night away with Killian as if she was an actual princess made her feel like she was flying.

She immediately noticed Killian's smug look, as if it had been him the one to organize all this for her, to impress her, and was damn proud of it. «May have the honour of escorting you to our table, Princess?»

Unable of even saying a word, Emma closed her mouth, smiling timidly at him, and nodded. Everything seemed too surreal, like the garlands hanging from the ceiling, creating a flower ceiling of their own, making it seem like as if they were in an enchanted forest.

«Look at that, Killian Jones _finally_ joining us on Valentine's Day!» exclaimed a voice Emma recognized as Aurora's. Their host was a vision in her peach gown, clearly an Elie Saab Aurora was wearing with the elegance of a true princess.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Emma noticed the tips of Killian's ears become red and she smiled to herself, trying not to think about _why_ he was finally there. No, she wouldn't allow their past to interfere with their night; tonight she wanted to live a fairytale, even if she had to live a nightmare for the rest of her life.

«You had me come here just to dance with me,» Killian commented, faking exasperation, stepping forward to slightly hug the woman without ruining her perfect hairstyle.

Aurora arched a brow. «Am I wrong or you _did_ promise me one?»

«Aye. Ten years ago,» Killian groaned, sighing. «The first dance is already promised to my lovely wife. I'm a very wanted man, my carnet is almost completely full. You're lucky.»

At his comment – and no, her heart didn't flutter at " _my lovely wife_ ", nopes – Emma arched her eyebrows. «Ah, is it, now?» she asked with a fake cloy smile, batting her eyelashes fast, innocently.

As if he was a child caught with his hands in the cookie jar, Killian ducked his head, the tips of his ears now aflame, just like his cheeks. «Of course, love,» he replied, clearing his voice, «with _your_ name.»

«Nice save, Jones,» Phillip commented, joining them just then. «Emma, it's a pleasure to finally meet you.» Instead of just shaking her hand, he brought it to his lips and kissed it, just like Killian loved to do, making her blush slightly. The only one who'd ever kissed her hand was Killian and she felt both flattered and uncomfortable at the same time. Killian didn't look angry, not at all, his smile made his whole face glow.

«It's my pleasure, Phillip. You've done an amazing job, it's all so… magical,» Emma commented with a wave of her hand around them.

«Thank you, Emma,» Aurora said, smiling at her. Unlike their first meeting she seemed more gentle. «Though I have to say the real magic here is your dress. It looks amazing on you.»

Emma blushed even more, shaking her head slightly. «Definitely not as magic as your Elie Saab,» she replied with a nod towards Aurora's dress. Part of her didn't like how the colour didn't flatter the tone of her skin, however she couldn't deny it was beautiful. Emma adored that kind of dresses, they were actual works of art.

Aurora was about to reply to her when a butler approached her, whispering something in her ear. She then turned once again to them, saying: «I'm sorry, duty calls. Please, sit down, I'll be back to you shortly.»

After their hosts had gone away, Killian smiled sweetly at Emma as he proceeded to pull back the chair for her so she could sit down between David and himself, genuinely happy of seeing her so carefree.

Mentally cursing her gown, so beautiful but too bulky, Emma sat down, noticing only now the seat marker with her name. Her heart jumped inside her chest as she read _Emma Jones_ handwritten on it.

Killian sat down next to her, turning a little so he would face her. His eyes kept roaming up and down the jewelled bustier, slowing a little when he reached her breasts with his gaze. She saw him passing his tongue on his lower lip and a quiver ran down her spine, suddenly wanting for the night to be already over.

She should _fear_ that moment, the moment when they'd be all alone and he would make her his, yet she wasn't, not completely. Emma knew everything would change tonight, their marriage would become more real than it'd ever been. However, she was somehow sure Killian wouldn't force her to do something she didn't want, or he would've forced himself on her the first night she spent at Neverland House. She just hoped she could trust this sensation, yet the word "hope" had disappeared from her vocabulary long ago.

She couldn't help but wince when Killian took the hand she had placed on the table in his, squeezing it slightly as if to bring her back to reality. «You're quiet,» he pointed out, not accusatory at all, but worried instead.

With a faint smile, Emma shook her head, lifting her eyes towards the ceiling and its elaborate tangle of flowers. «It's just… I didn't expect all this,» she said, biting the inside of her cheek; she wasn't talking about the decorations, but about what her life had become.

Madame didn't give them false hopes regarding their lives once they were bought, she warned them that their husbands, aside from showing them off in public and using them for their personal pleasure, would treat them as if they were nothing.

Once, one of the girls had asked how to endure what a man could do to her, especially when intercourses would be non-consensual – because oh, many would be so – and Madame had smiled sadly at first, as if she was reminiscing something from her past, and had just replied some girls just decided to put an end to it, unfortunately, and that she didn't have any control or responsibility over them after the deal was sealed.

Therefore, Emma had been trained to always expect the worst, and the fear that everything would be swept away after he'd treated her kindly was slowly coming back to the surface. What if, once he'd had her, he would get tired of her and wouldn't be kind to her anymore? Wat if he went back to _her_? After all, he'd not kept a secret the fact that he'd bought her just to make _her_ jealous. Besides, he'd told her he _needed_ her, but not because he _felt_ something for her or because she was his anchor or something.

No, Killian needed her to make the woman he really loved jealous and, although she didn't like this situation at all, Emma would help him. After all, it was a good wife's duty to do what her husband told her, wasn't it?

Killian squeezed her hand before bringing it to his lips, catching her attention. He was very good at it, she had to admit it, because every time she felt his lips on her skin she forgot who she was, simply feeling a woman loved by her husband.

«Darling, you deserve this and so much more,» he murmured in her ear and Emma couldn't stop herself from asking why did he sound so honest. It wasn't a lie, he _actually_ seemed willing to put the world at her feet, and Emma couldn't understand why.

This was the problem with Killian Jones: he didn't treat her as if she was an object, but like a real human being, and it destabilized her, because no one had ever prepared her to _feel_ those emotions. It was as if the last nine years had been erased and she was back to being the lost thirteen-year-old who knew nothing of the world and had trusted the wrong person.

Not knowing how to face his words, she used the only method she knew: the physical one. Smiling sweetly, she leaned forward to brush his lips with her own. Killian didn't take long to understand what she wanted to say but couldn't translate into words and kissed her back, maybe a bit too much enthusiasm – not that she minded – because they heard a throat clearing behind him.

«Easy, guys, you'll have all the time in the world to do it. You know, after dinner, in your room instead of the table in front of everyone?»

Emma turned a deep shade of red, trying to pull away from Killian, who instead kept her close, ignoring his friend.

«Sod off, Will,» Killian grumbled, placing one last kiss at the corner of Emma's mouth. He winked at her, pulling away to stand up and give Will a man-hug.

Finally free to breathe normally, Emma lifted her gaze, noticing a blonde woman next to Will, a long satin dress sensually hugging her, catching everyone's eyes.

Not wanting to make herself ridiculous, Emma decided not to stand from where she was sat, simply nodding her head towards the couple, a warm smile on her lips.

«Milady,» Will greeted her with a mocking bow to which Emma replied with a formal nod, «you look wonderful tonight; it's a real shame you ended up with such a scoundrel.»

«Oh, I wouldn't know, I find scoundrels quite fascinating,» Emma retorted, mischief in her voice, winking at Killian. Will groaned.

The woman next to him, undoubtedly Anastasia, laughed. «You got it coming, Will,» she told him, affectionately patting him on his shoulder before heading towards Emma. «We finally meet! I must say, you're far more beautiful than how Will described you.» There was no venom in Anastasia's words, just a touch of amusement.

«Thank you,» Emma simply replied. She then waved to her own dress. «Please pardon me if I don't stand up to greet you, but all these layers are difficult to master,» she started, voice tinged with guilt, but was stopped by Anastasia, who shook her head, the rubies handing from her lobes catching the light and reflecting like flames onto her porcelain skin.

«Don't you worry, I completely understand. After last year's ball I've learned not to repeat the same mistake twice and opted for a snugger dress, though it's not as a magical as an actual ballgown,» Anastasia commented with a shrug.

Emma frowned. «I wouldn't say that. Plus, your skirt is loose enough to have a nice twirling effect on the dancefloor.»

Anastasia's surprised look made Emma stiffen slightly, wondering if she'd said too much. Yet, the other woman's lips curled up into a smile, her eyes now lit up with mischief. «Oh my, have I found out a stylist, perhaps?»

Surprise bloomed on Emma's face, who shook her head, smiling. «No, no, just too many fashion magazines subscriptions,» she replied with a laugh. _And so many hours spent studying every kind of dress_ , her mind added. She shut it down immediately, every hesitation in giving an answer could damage her cover.

Anastasia, whoever, winked at her, which made Emma doubt of who the girl in front of her was. She had a perfect posture, but there was in something in her she couldn't explain, something terribly familiar she was afraid to discover.

Emma stayed silent, not knowing what to say in fear of appearing rude or get into trouble. She was saved by Aurora, who drew everyone's attention on herself the moment she stepped onto the low stage where the orchestra was playing, encouraging her guests to sit down.

While Aurora thanked her guests, Killian sat back down next to Emma. Will and Anastasia sat in the two of the four empty chairs at the table; evidently, the mistress of the house had wanted to have her friends at the same table. It was strange for a Valentine's Day dinner to be more like a friendly gathering instead of a special moment for couples. There wasn't much logic in it, yet she had to admit she didn't mind it much. Besides, she knew Killian would just spend the night kissing her if he wanted to.

A burst of applause followed Aurora's speech, who then joined them at the table, followed by Phillip mere minutes later.

The moment a light melody filled the air, waiters and waitresses seemed to appear out of thin air, placing aperitifs in front of the guests. Exception made for Mary Margaret, who'd been served a non-alcoholic mimosa, everyone was served a vesper in a champagne cup garnished with a lemon slice.

Grabbing the glass, Aurora cleared her throat, catching her friends' attention. «As I said before, it's a pleasure for me to have you here, but this year we've _finally_ added Jones to the married squad and I hope next year I'll be in need of a bigger table to fit Jeff and the other brother Jones.»

«Jeff? Probably. Liam? Nah.» Will shook his head with a chuckle, earning a slap on the arm from Anastasia and a not-quite furious glare from Aurora.

«As I was saying,» the latter continued, now looking at Emma, «I'm happy to welcome Emma in this family…»

«You're scaring her, Rora,» commented Will in a whisper, the woman's eyes now livid as Anastasia clipped him around his head.

«… hoping you won't be listening to some idiots and know you can always count on us.» Aurora lifted her aperitif in front of her. «To us!» The toast echoed in the air as everyone brought the glasses to their lips.

Emma felt as if she'd fallen through a time portal, not because of the kind of dresses they were wearing, but of the atmosphere itself, so delicate and belonging to another era entirely, far, far away from everyday's life. Perhaps that was the reason why she just felt… _happy_. Even though she couldn't understand _why_ , she felt as if she could be free to feel just Emma, the same Emma she barely remembered she'd been once, the Emma who believed in fairytales and that, one day, her parents would find her.

However, that was impossible, because Emma wasn't that child anymore, nor she would be ever again. Still… there was a feeling in her chest that she couldn't shake off herself, so adamant it bothered her.

Glancing at Killian, his face bright as he listened to what Phillip was saying, Emma decided to put aside her dark thoughts for the evening.

Her fingers traced the glass' stem as she tried to focus on Phillip's words too, a story about a client and their attempt to recreate the famous Rapunzel scene from one of the turrets. Emma chuckled genuinely, imagining the scene, but gave in to a full belly laugh when she thought of Aurora's face in that moment.

«What about you, Emma? How did you and Killian meet? This bad boy has been awfully mysterious.»

When in doubt, _don't_ laugh about someone, karma will always find you.

As she looked at her, Emma saw a trace of mistrust in Aurora's eyes and stopped herself from rolling her eyes skywards. She _did_ understand her, of course: one of their friends went to Las Vegas and came back married to a total stranger just two weeks later? Being suspicious of her just showed Emma how much they cared about Killian, and that warmed her heart.

She shrugged slightly, keeping a smile onto her face as she briefly met Killian's eyes, who was keeping his hand on her thigh. «Well, we were in a bar and I hadn't slept in nearly twenty-four hours so I ordered a rum spiked coffee,» Emma began, throwing Killian a mischievous gaze, who arched a brow in response. The story was, of course, the same one they'd told Liam, but with a few more details. «And if there's something Killian has learnt that night, is not to ever come near me when the only thing I want to do is going to sleep.»

«Please tell me you threw your coffee at him,» Will begged her, joining his hands in front of him.

At that, Emma laughed. «Oh, _unfortunately_ I did, despite his actions were completely chivalrous.»

«Sorry, love, but after you knocked out that guy I _had_ to know you,» Killian replied in mock offence, leaning forward to steal her a kiss.

«Admit it, you've been lucky it was just coffee and I didn't knock you out, too,» Emma teased him, this banter just too normal she didn't feel the weight of her past on her shoulders. But no, it wasn't possible to escape it; even though she _appeared_ to be a normal girl, she wasn't, nothing that was coming out of her mouth was false. Then why did it seem so real?

Killian's eyes lit up, malice fuelling the stormy sea in his eyes. «I wouldn't know, my love, I remember feeling pretty sore after al-»

«For the love of God!» Will cut him off, throwing a napkin at Killian – action Aurora would punish with death if Phillip hadn't his hand onto her knee. «We asked how you two met, not how much practice you two had before starting to fill Neverland with wee lads and lasses.»

At those words Emma blushed fiercely, not because the conversation had moved to a particular territory, but because, by now, everyone at their table was imagining Neverland House full of children, which was something they would totally expect from them, sooner or later.

Killian's hand tightened a little around her thigh, which she was surprised she could feel it through the layers of the gown. Yet, she could feel his stiffness. They'd never talked about children, but she was sure there wouldn't be any anytime soon. Probably never.

Noticing her slight discomfort, Killian came in her aid. «I'm sorry to ruin your dreams, Will,» he replied with a slight icy note in his voice, throwing him his own napkin, «but for the time being we just want to enjoy each other.»

«I didn't mean you had to start filling it tonight,» Will grumbled in his defence, folding the napkin. Emma felt sad for him.

«So,» Mary Margaret cut in, evidently catching the tension in the air, «your self-defence techniques were what attracted Killian and you ended up throwing your coffee at him thinking he was trying to pick you up?»

Emma shook her head. «Not quite, he was actually trying to help me,» Emma laughed, easily jumping from one feeling to another. She then turned to Killian, biting the inside of her lower lip. «Even though he _did_ want to, didn't you?»

He pretended to ignore what she was implying. «I don't have the faintest idea of what you're talking about, dear.» He then winked at her, bending forward to steal another kiss before she could come up with a retort.

Will's napkin hit them once more. «Ew. Get a room.»

«Later, Will,» Killian replied against Emma's lips, making the whole table chuckle.

Emma felt as if she was flying, wrapped up in a sense of happiness she usually felt when she was with Ruby. A pang of pain tangled with guilt clutched at her chest at the thought of her best friend. Emma almost felt as if she was somehow betraying her, as if she was replacing her with new friends. Deep down, though, she knew she wasn't; no matter if those people would ever be her friends, no one would ever be like Ruby.

Soon, the waiters took away the empty glasses and Emma found in front of herself a plate of crostini with grilled asparagus and a poached egg on top of each. Her mouth watered at the sight.

Even though she knew what she would be eating since the menu had been added to the invitation, Emma was still amazed by what Aurora – or rather, her chef – had prepared for the evening. Of course, she'd seen this combination many times, but tonight… tonight she _enjoyed_ it.

Wine was poured – well, water for Mary Margaret, who kept looking at them with envy, though – and the conversation flew by, touching topics in each of the people at the table: Aurora and Phillip were thinking about having a child once the West Wing was finished; Mary Margaret was dying to know her baby's sex but David had forbidden her because she didn't know how to keep a secret; David, who was as unaware about his child's sex as his wife was, regaled them with an anecdote about his chase a few days ago of a thief escaping on a horse as he followed him with his truck; Will, wisely enough, kept away from the marriage topic and complained about his lovable cats and how they'd destroyed another set of curtains; Anastasia, who Emma discovered was a jeweller, teased Will and announced she was about to finish her last collection; Killian told his friends about his interview at the Trinity and what kind of lessons he would teach.

Emma, instead, tried not to toy too much with her Stilton and pear gnocchi. She felt like a fish out of water, unable of joining a conversation without making herself ridiculous. So, she did the only thing they'd told her to do in moments like that: she stayed silent.

However, when Killian mentioned Dublin, she couldn't help but squirm on the chair. She'd thought long in the past few days and had reached a conclusion that had stunned her. Of course, she'd have to talk with Killian first, but since he appeared so open to her decisions, Emma was almost sure he would approve.

«You're agitated, love. Is everything alright?»

Killian's voice in her ear made her jump. She turned to face him, faking a smile. He, though, could see the preoccupation in his eyes, but Emma knew he wouldn't push on the matter even if he was dying to.

Biting her lip, Emma placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. «Don't worry, it can wait,» she told him sweetly, brushing her nose against his bristly stubble.

Not entirely convinced, Killian let it go, remaining suspicious of her silence.

Emma smiled again, feeling tears pricking her eyes at his affection, because, despite he had the power to subjugate her, he hadn't. And, of course, there was that emotion in his eyes she didn't know how to decode.

Sometimes, Killian was more complex than her, which astonished her, because she hid behind masks to keep her past and her inability to _actually_ feel a secret, while Killian had built up walls to keep himself from feeling pain instead, hiding his broken heart from whoever could crush it even more.

«What about you, Emma? Now that you've settled down, have you an idea about what you're going to do?» Aurora asked. _Of course she would ask her about her future_ , Emma thought, biting back a grimace, faking an embarrassed smile instead.

She _knew_ she should talk with Killian first, of course, but making assumptions wasn't the same as acting without asking for his permission. However, she felt anxious at the thought that, had she had free rein, Emma would actually have to do it. Deep down, though, she felt it was the right thing to do. «I would like to get back to my old job, helping foster kids fining their home,» she hesitantly began, holding Aurora's gaze. «Of course, I don't know how things work here in Ireland, but I'd like to search for something like that.»

With it being Emma's plan B, she had to learn a social worker's job, never actually working, of course. It was logical that she might have to graduate first, so she would really know what she had to do and, in the meantime, maybe even start to work. Of this, though, she really had to talk with Killian in private.

His hand hadn't stopped caressing her leg, it hadn't tightened in warning, so she'd talked freely.

«It sounds wonderful,» Mary Margaret intervened, supporting her. Emma glanced at her with gratitude. «Was it difficult for you?»

Emma pressed her lips into a thin line, nodding slowly. «A lot. Especially with teenagers. The only thing they wanted to do was to escape, they'd rather be children of the streets instead of no one.»

She could feel everyone's eyes on her, but the more piercing one, the one that threatened to find out her every secret, belonged to the man beside her, blue eyes that knew she wasn't talking about the orphans, but herself. He knew what an orphan was because he was one himself. And Emma was scared of her discovery.

Mary Margaret seemed to be on the verge of tears, probably a bit too emotional because of her pregnancy, and Emma smiled gently at her. «I can't say I have done much for them,» Emma continued, «but I'm glad they've found a home.»

Killian kissed her temple, knowing all too well that, for an orphan, having a home was what mattered the most.

She received looks of approval from the others, knowing all too well they'd turn into disgusted ones had they known how fake were her words. She tried not to think about it, smiling shyly at Killian, who gave her a pained one in return. Emma knew he was thinking about everything he'd done to her, about the fact that he'd bought her; she couldn't allow him to hate himself so much. Which was absurd: she should be the first to hate him, she just couldn't, not because she couldn't fell hate – oh, she'd felt her fair share of it – but Killian… Killian didn't deserve to be hated. Partially, well, maybe he did, because he _did_ buy her, after all, she couldn't deny it, yet… what was that had broken that man down so much to make him do something like that? Emma was afraid to find out.

The green peppercorn fillet with grilled mushrooms was served, halting the conversation, of which Emma was extremely grateful: telling so many lies in one evening was exhausting and she was about the burst.

«You're amazing, you know that?» Killian whispered in her ear so only she could hear.

At his words, Emma snapped her head towards him, asking herself if he was complimenting her mastery of the lies. She discarded the thought, seeing in his eyes that he was in awe of her as a person. Nobody had ever looked at her like that, as if they believed she _actually_ was the most wonderful person in the world. Her heart started to beat frantically in her chest, ready to burst at that sensation she couldn't name but she knew she had never felt before, unknown yet fulfilling.

She didn't reply, smiling coyly and daring covering the hand he had on her thigh with hers, tightening her fingers around his in gratitude. Not caring about how Will would react, Emma leaned forward and placed a kiss on the corner of Killian's mouth, not daring to actually kiss him. Instead, he turned his head at the last second, capturing her lips with his.

Emma sighed a little, drowning in the kiss, definitely not caring about the people around them. _It's Valentine's Day after all_ , she mentally commented, but the moment Killian's tongue traced her lower lip, asking for permission, every rational thought was lost. Even though she knew what the limits of decency were, Emma also knew how much a simple kiss could affect the both of them after a week of pent-up sexual frustration due to her period and Killian's engagements that past week.

Reluctantly, she pulled away, looking up at him from under her eyelashes with green eyes that promised more fun to come. Later. A thrill ran down her spine at the thought.

In his eyes, Emma could see the same spark of desire that was slowly consuming her, and desired the evening was over already. But, since the waiting of pleasure was a pleasure itself, waiting wouldn't probably be so bad.

Laughs and anecdotes about high school years were exchanged, most of them narrating Will's adventures, but every one of them had been through a rebellious phase during their teen years. Apparently, her husband had been a troublemaker too _but_ one with very good grades. It didn't surprise her at all.

During the night, she noticed with amusement that the redness coating the tips of his ears never faded, just like his wine-tinted cheeks and the smile on his lips didn't either. He enchanted her and made her stomach fill with butterflies at the same time. It was a smile that, no matter how cliché it sounded, could light up the whole world, rivalling the sun itself. Her personal sun.

 _What a nice illusion_ , she told herself, regretfully returning with her eyes to the cup of chocolate mousse, a worthy ending that matched the theme of the ball and Valentine's Day's clichés. She brought a spoonful of it to her mouth, enjoying its coolness and the spicy note in it.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Emma noticed Killian looking at her licking his lips, and she suddenly imagined spread out on a bed, her skin covered in chocolate and he licking it all, leaving beard burns in his wake, alternated with marks he'd suck into her most private and tender places. _Soon_ , she told herself.

Only when all the dessert cups were removed and coffee was served to those who wanted it, Phillip stood, holding out his hand to his wife. Arora smiled brightly at him, placing her hand on his and standing. Together, they made their way to the dancefloor just as the orchestra gently went from whatever they were playing to the unmistakable notes of Tchaikovsky's Sleeping Beauty Waltz. Emma held back a snort at the cliché, focusing on the romantic aspect of it.

Instinctively, she leaned on the side, snuggling slightly against Killian, who held her close to himself, circling her shoulders with his arm. They watched their hosts gracefully dance, Aurora's dress barely touching the floor, making her look like an actual princess to everyone's eyes. At that point, Emma wouldn't have been surprised if the dress had started to change colour and go from pink to blue.

She laughed to herself at the thought, relaxing even more against Killian, who was now absentmindedly stroking her arm, his warm breath against the shell of ear sending shivers down her neck.

More couples joined Phillip and Aurora on the dancefloor, creating a kaleidoscope of colours.

Suddenly, Killian gently pushed her away so he could stand up and hold out his hand, a mischievous light in his eyes and a grin that bordered on indecency. «May I ask you a dance, milady?» he asked her with a bow, his eyes never leaving hers.

Once again, Killian was giving her the opportunity to decline, the opportunity not to dance in front of everyone and just sitting at the table and never having to answer that question again. She might have started to cry hadn't she been very good at concealing her emotions, but he must've read it in her eyes because his smile widened, inciting her to have fun and not to think about her past.

Emma grabbed his hand and, before she could stand, Killian placed a kiss on it. Shaking her head, she let him help her on her feet, making her twirl her around making her laugh so much her cheeks hurt.

Killian drew her to his chest, holding her close right there, between the tables, kissing her briefly before smirking again at her and escorting her towards the dancefloor.

«Are you sure you want to dance?»

Ducking her head, Emma looked up at him from under her eyelashes. «It's been so long since I last danced,» she muttered, not entirely sure she would be able to remember the lessons she'd taken years before.

Killian, though, wasn't worried about it at all. No, his smile actually grew even boarder. «There's only one rule, love: pick a partner who knows what he's doing.»

The words left her mouth before she could ever think about stopping them. «Then I choose you.»

She watched as Killian's eyes widened like never before, knowing that those words had a much more meaningful weight coming out of her mouth.

Emma was surprised by her own words as much as he was, however she couldn't bring herself to regret them.

Unable to muster any word, Killian bowed his head and led her onto the dancefloor, carefully avoiding the other dancers, just in time for the beginning of another song, one that made her chuckle as he placed his right hand on her hip.

«The waltz from _Swan Lake_? Seriously?» Emma asked in an amused whisper, letting him take the lead. She followed him without ever faltering, no stumble due to the heels or the skirt. Somehow, it was as if she'd been dancing all her life.

Killian shrugged. «I simply asked Rora if she'd put it in the set list and then asked when they would eventually play it.»

Emma couldn't help the blush that spread on her cheeks. He'd done all that just for her, and she wasn't talking about just having a song that carried her name inserted into the set list, but also accepting an invitation to a ball he could've refused, just as he could've not asked her to dance, yet he had. In just one evening Killian had done so much more than anyone else – save for Ruby – had ever done for her.

Suddenly, bringing her out from the tangle of thoughts in her head, Killian surprised her, spinning her around. A soft yelp slipped from her lips, which transformed into a laugh as he brought her tightly against his chest, his smile blinding.

«You're beautiful,» Killian told her, and Emma couldn't help but notice that, once again, his words weren't a lie. «I know I've repeated this many times tonight, but it's true: you look like an actual angel.» Emma's blush spread down onto her neck and chest, clearly visible thanks to the low neckline of her dress. He bent to whisper in her ear, his lips against her skin: «Though "siren" suits you more; you're just too bloody irresistible.»

His passion-filled words set the embers inside her aflame, the fire threatening to burn her. Had it been up to her, Emma would've kissed him right here, right now, abruptly interrupting their dance. Killian, however, managed to distract her from those thoughts with another spin, placing then both of his hands on her hips and lifting her.

Emma laughed out loud, not caring if the other guests glared at her, only focusing on Killian's eyes, full of something he was holding back and she couldn't recognize, one that instilled in her fear and safety at the same time. How something like that could be, she did not know.

«You're amazing,» he whispered in her ear as he kept her pressed against himself, her head resting on his chest, right above his heart.

At some point, Emma started to lose track of time, unable of telling how long she'd danced in Killian's arms, stealing several kisses from each other both on the dancefloor and off as they chatted with other guests or back at the table, sipping champagne and enjoying some fruit.

When almost all the guests had gone to their rooms or outside for a stroll in the garden before going to bed – or rather, to _hide_ in the park – Emma was already pretty tired, her feet aching, yet she felt so good wrapped in Killian's arms, lulled by the soft music and the beating of his heart.

His lips brushed against her forehead. «Are you tired?» Killian asked her, nuzzling his nose against her hair, breathing in her scent. «Do you want to go to bed?»

At those words, the flames inside her roared back to life, burning untamed even as she pulled away from him. She slipped her arms up around his neck, pressing herself more tightly against his chest, suddenly free of the exhaustion that'd enveloping her mere moments ago.

She lowered her gaze onto his lips, longing to feeling them against her skin once more, to let it kiss, suck, nibble…

Killian must see her desire, the same desire shining in his eyes because he lowered his head to capture her lips with his in a kiss right there in the middle of the dancefloor where just a few couples were still swaying.

Mustering up all the self-control she could, Emma put an end to the kiss, kiss that promised a night full of passion, that promised to ignite every inch of her, consuming her entire being and him, too.

Surprising her once more, Killian lifted her one last time, spinning her around and suffocating her laugh with his mouth before placing her down onto her feet and pulling away. He grabbed her hand, breaking into a sprint towards the now deserted table where he'd left his jacket, heading then towards the staircase.

Emma let out a squeal when he bent down to grab her from under her knees with one arm, lifting her in the air bridal style, squeal that soon turned into a laugh as Killian started to climb the stairs, stumbling just once.

Aurora had given them one of the best rooms, newly renovated, with a huge four poster bed, its columns spiralling up towards the ceiling, red tents opened over the windows that faced the garden.

She didn't have the time to see much else because Killian made her turn around and gave her a consuming kiss. He pressed her against his own body, needing her close as much as a man needed air to live, biting her lower lip to make Emma understand how _hungry_ he was.

Killian's tongue invaded her mouth less gracefully than ever before as he brought his hand up to pull out the bobby pins from her hair, leaving them silently fall on the carpet.

Emma's fingers ran through his hair, forcefully pulling at the silky strands and making him moan in pleasure. Soon, her hair was free, soft waves on her shoulders that made her look like an angel at Killian's eyes, an avenging angel come to take his soul and do with him whatever she desired the most.

Killian moved backwards towards the bed, Emma following his every step, his breath now coming out in short pants and his eyes a deep blue that nearly blended with the black of his dilated pupils. «Are you sure?» he asked once he could breathe enough to let out those words, leaning his forehead against hers. «We can still just go to slee-»

In response, Emma cut him off pushing him onto the bed and straddling him, the skirt gathered around her waist and her panty-clad sex now pressed against his hard length. With a smirk on her kiss-swollen lips, Emma ground down on him, moaning as she felt him hard under her, the thought of being separated only by thin layers of fabric making her wetter by the minute. She grabbed his hands, pressing them into the mattress at the sides of his head, leaning forward to better looking him in the eyes, long strands of her creating a curtain meant to keep the world outside, leaving just them in that new realm.

«You're an angel, aren't you?» Killian murmured, freeing a hand to caress her cheek. She leaned into him, rubbing her cheek against the rough palm of his hand and closing her eyes. There, in the suffused light of the room, everything seemed so perfect and every flaw forgotten, every painful thought and old grudges left outside in the cold.

She shook her head. «I am as human as you are,» Emma replied in a whisper, worried she would break the spell if she talked too loudly.

Killian brushed her lower lip with his thumb and she didn't think twice before capturing it between her teeth and suck lightly on it, her eyes hooded and filled with passion as she slowly started to move above him in sensual circular motions.

She didn't take long to find the perfect spot where the thin fabric of her g-string seemed to disappear as she rubbed against the zipper of his pants, her clit throbbing against his hard cock.

«Take everything you desire,» Killian breathed, longing for their clothes to disappear as much as Emma. He bucked his hips, making her mewl from the back of her throat. He did it again, the mewl becoming a moan.

«Oh,» Emma panted, closing her eyes and throwing her head back, pushing down harder and faster, feeling the heat building inside her, until she came, biting down on his finger and then shooting it with her tongue. Still overwhelmed by her orgasm, Emma opened her eyes, locking them with Killian's, her pupils dilatated. She was high on pleasure, on that fire that had just consumed her and that she still needed, unsated.

Killian moaned at the sensation of her teeth sinking into his flesh without cutting the skin and rolled her under him, settling between her thighs and admiring how beautiful she was with her skin flushed and her breath short, her eyes shining, full of passion.

He carefully studied her, her chest rising and lowering at the rhythm of her laboured breath. With a smirk, he moved lower, gathering her skirt around her thighs and sneaking under it, groaning when he finally saw the white garter-belt and stockings she had on. Lace wrapped around her thighs, thin strings hooking the stockings to the garter-belt and, under it, her g-string was soaked through.

Emma arched her back at the feeling of his lips on her inner thigh, a new rush of pleasure took hold of her, Killian's rough stubble scratching her skin arousing her more and more. She tried to wrap her legs around his head but he stopped her movement, lifting one knee over his shoulder and wrapping his arm around it.

Wanting to _see_ him, Emma tried to pull up the skirt and find his head, in vain. «Stupid dress,» she muttered, making Killian laugh against her still-covered mound, the sound reverberating all through her body. She moaned, pushing her hips against him.

Unable of seeing past the tulle, Emma closed her eyes again, crying out in surprise when Killian's teeth closed lightly onto her still-covered clit. She couldn't even think of reacting that Killian had already pushed aside her g-string and licked a strip up her cunt with the flat of his tongue, making her scream once again.

Oh, yes, Killian Jones wasn't good at using his mouth just to talk, nor he was good with his hands only when it came to painting.

Killian devoured her like a starving man, and she was oh so desirous of giving herself to him, of being consumed by him.

«Oh god,» she panted with a loud moan when she felt one finger entering her, caressing her silky walls as he kept using his lips and teeth and tongue on her. But Emma needed _more_ , she needed to be full, she needed to feel that stretch she yearned.

As if he'd read her mind, Killian pushed a second finger inside her, moving them faster inside her wet, tight heat and curling them until he found her sweet spot. He kept taunting her, sending her higher and higher, drinking her juices as his ears filled with her moans and screams, his mind fogged by her arousing scent.

Emma writhed beneath him, not used to a pleasure like that, so different from the one she'd achieved with her own fingers. «Please,» she moaned bucking her hips against his mouth, or trying to, since his arms and the skirt tightened around her middle as Killian dragged her closer. She couldn't see him, but she knew that if she did, she would find a ravenous wolf feasting on his prey.

She felt him chuckle against her, his tongue circling her clit as his fingers never stopped, the vibrations seeping into her bones, pulverizing them in the same moment he added a third finger inside her.

Surely the entire castle heard her screams of pleasure as she came again, her walls clenching tightly around Killian's thick fingers, making him moan too at the thought of her wrapped around his aching cock, her heels digging into his back. He didn't care, he'd bear her marks proudly.

He brought her down from her high, more wetness coating his hand as he lapped it up greedily. With one last kiss on her clit, Killian pulled out his fingers, tearing a whine from her lips, and repositioned her g-string back onto her still throbbing sex.

Emma watched him pull back and shift onto his knees, the fingers he'd used to bring her pleasure now surrounded by his lips as he tasted her once again. She moaned at the sight, her still trembling legs clenching.

In his eyes there was a sparkle promising a night of pure pleasure, her insides burning in anticipation.

She let him drag her onto her feet, his arms going around her waist to keep her from falling back on the bed because of her weak knees. _His_ doing.

Her breath caught in her throat when he bent his head to kiss her again, taking her lower lip between his teeth and tugging at it. Shivers of pleasure ran down her spine as his right thumb caressed her under her breast; she could feel her nipples harden even further at his touch and he wasn't even directly touching her.

He made her turn around rapidly, pulling her back against his chest and brushing away her hair from her neck before nibbling the soft skin there. Both his hands were now cupping her breasts, his magic fingers massaging her stiff nipples from above the fabric. Suddenly, Killian pulled away, not before having marked her creamy skin once again, blindly searching the zipper.

Emma chuckled, a sound between amusement and malice that earned her another hickey on her neck that turned her laugh into another mewl.

At his third attempt, Killian finally found the zipper, pulling it down with atrocious slowness. However, Emma smiled when she heard him groan in pleasure, proof that he'd understood what she was hiding under the gown apart from stockings and garter-belt.

Killian gently let the dress slip from her shoulders, kissing one when it was completely naked. Emma helped him take it off when the bodice fell around her waist, moving her hips in a definitely suggestive way, rubbing her backside against his erection.

The dress fell in a circle around her feet, leaving Emma dressed only in lingerie and heels in front of Killian, her arms at her sides as she waited for him to make his move.

Reverently grabbing her hand, Killian made her slowly twirl around, his hungry eyes roaming all over her body admiring every inch of her skin the moonbeams made look ethereal.

«You really are an angel,» she heard him repeat, and her heart seemed to burst inside her chest, a feeling she'd never felt before flooding through her, overwhelming her like a tidal wave.

Slowly, Killian pulled the headband from her hair, throwing it onto the voluminous amount of fabric at her feet. He then helped her out of the confines the dress had created, sitting on the bed and making her straddle him once more, leaving her in control.

Emma settled onto his thighs, near enough to tease him but not enough to make him lose control. She put two fingers under his chin, gently forcing him to lift it and look her in the eyes before leaning forward and pressing her lips against his, moving her hands to undo his tie.

The kiss became heated as she threw the tie somewhere around the room and her fingers worked onto the buttons of his shirt. Killian stayed still, only kissing her back with hunger, his hands on her thighs tightened every time Emma's nails scratched his skin, his hips bucking up as she teased his nipples. Emma smirked against his lips.

She took off his shirt with a little help from him, admiring his solid chest and the spread of dark hair covering it. She wetted her lower lip, suddenly hungrier for him than she was before.

Grabbing his hands, she brought them behind her back where the laces of the corset were. As Killian blindly fumbled with the ribbons, Emma unhooked the stockings from the garter-belt, humming in pleasure when his fingers finally touched the skin of her back, making her shiver.

In little time, Killian undid the laces with sharp tugs, slowing his actions when the corset loosened completely, as if asking Emma for permission to take it off. A kiss from her was permission enough.

Even though it wasn't the first time he saw her naked, Emma couldn't help but feel shy in front of his gaze, famished yet worshiping at the same time, as if she _really_ was an angel.

Killian traced with his fingers the curves of her hips, caressing lightly her ribs until he reached her breasts, cupping them in his hands. Emma suffocated a moan by pressing her lips to his. He moved his fingers over her pert nipples, ending the kiss just to bend his head and take one of her peaks into his mouth. This time, Emma cried out. He circled her waist with one arm, drawing her to his hard cock and pressing her against it, making her feel how much he desired her.

Emma moaned, pressing her knees against his hips as she moved over him, his teeth grazing at her nipple in response. With his other hand, Killian started to tease the other, making it unbearably hard. She circled his head with her arms, arching her back and pushing herself against him as she pressed him against her soft mounds, pushing him to take whatever he wanted, to take _her_.

With a swift movement, Killian lifted her up into his arms and placed her down onto the mattress without ever pull away from her. He kept rubbing his erection against her, the g-string now ruined by her juices. With a smirk and a wink, Killian left a trail of kisses between her breasts and down over her flat stomach, shifting a little to bit down on her hip.

«Killian,» Emma moaned, her voice unfamiliarly need as her knuckles turned white as she tightened her grip on the bedspread beneath her. She'd always thought she'd be an object of pleasure, but that night, just like the week before, Killian was putting her at the center of pleasure itself. «Please…»

The sound of ripping fabric followed that plea and the chilly air hit her she was the most heated and sensitive. Leaving a kiss just above the lace of a stocking, Killian pulled away, sitting back on his knees once again. He brought her legs up one at a time, her calf resting against his shoulder as he took off her shoes one by one, throwing them not so carefully somewhere in the room.

Emma laughed breathlessly, earning a cocked eyebrow from Killian. Extremely slowly, he took off first one stocking and then the other, leaving hot trails of open-mouthed kisses on her legs. «Killian…» she panted when he sucked a mark into her ankle.

«Patience, my dear,» he told her, digging his tongue into the hollow just beneath the malleolus.

«You're way too dressed,» Emma retorted, surprising herself of those words, because she shouldn't have pronounced them, but he smiled in reply, a reassuring smile that managed to quickly calm her down and make the tendrils of anxiety disappear.

Quickly, Killian kicked away his shoes and hovered over her body, lowering onto her until her sensitive nipples deliciously rubbed against his soft chest hair.

Emma wiggled a bit under him, rubbing her naked sex against his cock, making his eyes roll back into his head, a hiss escaping his lips. _Two can play this game_ , she thought, her victory short-lived as his teeth found the soft skin of her neck. Another mark blossomed onto her creamy skin.

«Please,» Emma exhaled, her fingers weaving through his hair.

Grinning, Killian bent his head to take a nipple between his teeth, biting lightly down onto the sensitive flesh and used a hand to pinch the other, his right hand now between her legs, searching for her sodden folds. Emma moaned, pushing her hips into his hand, a fresh wave of wetness coating her pussy at the feeling of his fingertips so close to her entrance.

All of a sudden, Killian pulled away from her, rapidly taking off his pants, the only piece of cloth covering him were his black boxer briefs. Emma licked her lips at the sight.

He covered her with his body once more, his forearms at the sides of her head. He nuzzled her nose with his, exchanging soft smiles before kissing her gently, and for a moment Emma thought he was a man in love. She didn't let herself overwhelm by those dark thoughts, losing herself in the sensations she was feeling now, arching her back slightly to press her breasts more into his chest and grabbing the back of his neck with her hand, the other one moving lower towards his hip and even lower until the waistband of his boxer. As she tugged his lower lip between her teeth, she slipped her hand under the fabric, caressing his cheek before digging her nails into the flesh.

Killian widened his eyes and instinctively moved his hips forwards. A low growl emerged from the back of his throat. He pushed himself hard against her, grazing her jaw with his teeth. «Are you sure?» he panted against her ear.

In response, Emma brought her hand to the front of his boxers, circling his thick, hot cock with slightly cold fingers, making him shiver in pleasure. She stroked him as much as she could given their position, enjoying the feeling of him hot and hard in her hand. His cock twitched in her hand and Emma's lips curled up into a smile, another wave of heat sweeping through her at the thought of how it would feel inside her.

«D-do we need…» Killian began to ask, clearly starting to lose control of his body and thoughts.

Emma shook her head. «Only if you want it,» she replied, tightening a bit her fingers around his tip, observing his reaction, his eyes rolling backwards and a moan escaping his lips. «I've been on the pill since I was thirteen, Killian.» She squeezed her hand again, as she came up from another downward stroke, twisting it at the head.

In that moment, Killian completely lost control, quickly removing his boxers and positioning himself between her thighs, his cock pressed against her thigh.

Daringly, Emma took him back into her hand, sweeping her thumb across the tip and smearing the fat bead of precum leaking from the slit all over it, pumping it a few times. With her movements she positioned it at her entrance, moaning at the sensation of finally having him right where she desired. Killian exhaled, his forehead pressed against her shoulder. He pushed forward a little, her scorching hot wetness coating the tip of his cock now, a sensation he wanted to imprint into his mind and never forget.

«Fuck, you're so wet,» he moaned, «so _hot_.»

«Just for you, Killian,» Emma panted, running her ankle up and down his hairy calf. She pushed her hips against him, making him slide deeper inside her, his girth stretching her in the most delicious way despite the light pain.

Killian pulled out of her a bit, just to push back in seconds later, going deeper and deeper until Emma's fingernails sunk into the flesh of his waist and he thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt inside her. He suffocated her scream of pleasure with a hungry kiss, grabbing her knee and bringing it around his hip, allowing himself to bottom out inside her.

«Oh, Emma, _fuck_ ,» he whispered kissing her neck, her jaw, the spot behind her ear. «You're so _tight_. Bloody amazing.» Emma turned her head, capturing his lips in a kiss and wiggling her hips, pushing him to move.

Intertwining his fingers with hers, Killian started to move inside her. The sensation of having him inside her caught her by surprise: it was completely different from when his fingers had moved inside her, she now felt _more_ , every inch of her skin tingled in response to every movement of the air, to every touch and kiss Killian laid on her skin.

She wrapped his waist with her knees, pressing him deeper inside her as she thrust her hips towards him. «Harder, Killian. Please,» she pleaded, lavishing his neck with her tongue and sucking marks into his tender skin.

Killian let go of her hands to circle her waist with one arm, sitting back on his knees without ever slip from her. His movement changed the angle, making him hit the spot inside her that made her see stars. A deep growl slipped past his lips as she clenched around him, his cock ready to burst. He wouldn't let himself come before her, she deserved to come again and not feel as if he'd just used her.

Emma bowed her back off the mattress, her body starting to tremble with her impending orgasm. She searched for something to hold on to, finding his forearms as he held her waist and thrust fast and hard inside her. She could feel every inch of him inside her cunt, the throbbing veins of his cock rubbing deliciously against her walls.

The pain had faded away as quickly as it had come; despite his very generous girth, Killian had managed not to hurt her, and Emma felt like she could _weep_ at the attention he'd given her.

Killian leaned forward, his left hand sneaking to the side to grab a pillow. Doing so, his pelvis rubbed against Emma's clit, making her walls tighten again around him. He emitted a strangled moan at the sensation, quickly grabbing hold of his thoughts to slip the pillow under her hips, his hands now free to roam over her body, to squeeze and scratch and worship her heavenly body.

He started to move again at a slower peace, earning a frustrated moan from his wife. Ducking his head, he took a pert nipple into his mouth – he was _definitely_ a breasts man, Emma realized – his fingers tightening gently but firmly around the other soft mound. «God, Emma, you are so bloody delicious, your skin, your cunt…»

 _Fuck_ , Emma thought, his words arousing her in a way his touch couldn't do. «Fuck,» she breathed as he started to thrust faster, his hand leaving her breast to go touching her oversensitive clit. «Oh god, Killian!» she couldn't help but cry out when he hit _that_ spot all over again, sending her reeling towards her orgasm. With her nails she traced angry red marks down his back, making him moan and thrust even harder as his teeth dug into her breast without being painful but the right amount of arousing.

«Fuck, Emma, come. Come on my cock, squeeze me.»

Stars popped behind her eyelids as she came with a shout, tightening around him like a vice. If the ones she'd experienced before were orgasms, what she'd just had couldn't be explained with mere words.

Killian thrust once, twice inside her before giving in to those hot, wet and tight walls, spilling his seed inside her with a strangled moan. He stayed there, buried deep inside her as they came down from their high, both their breaths laboured, their bodies still twitching.

Kissing her chest just above where her heart was beating frantically, Killian rolled onto his back, taking her with him and slipping out of her core. A whine left Emma's swollen lips at that.

A thin layer of sweat covered them, making them shiver in the chilly night air though their bodies were still hot and the blood still boiling in their veins.

Emma curled against him, feeling sore between her thighs, but sated. She rubbed her cheek against Killian's chest, his heart pounding beneath her ear. With slightly trembling fingers, she traced imaginary patterns on his chest; Killian was doing the same on her back.

She was so tired she didn't even notice when he got up and cleaned her up from his seed and her own juices and blood, nor when he tuck her into bed, slipping under the blankets next to her.

Not for the first time, Emma fell asleep in his arms, but for the first time, she felt as if it was _normal_ , as if _she_ was a normal girl and Killian the man she loved.


	10. Chapter 10

**I have no words for myself. I'm sorry it took me this long to update. I admit I had to put this fic on a writing hiatus, nasty nonnies would do that to you, and the heavy topic is sometimes difficult to handle. Plus, I wrote for several different Captain Swan events, and that took me quite some time.**

 **I cannot thank you enough for every word, kudos, follow, favourite and all that, it makes me really, really happy.**

 **I just want to say one thing: in almost every review you think Killian is in love with Emma. He isn't. Not yet. First of all, because for them it's been, what, weeks at most? Yes, they have to play the part, and I love writing them all flirty and fluffy, but it's not that simple. They're both traumatized, especially Emma. Killian had his heart ripped out and then curshed. He's moving on, slowly, but what I would call them now is something akin to friends with benefits. And a bit of feelings they don't want to aknowledge - well, they don't know what they're feeling, so :'D I'm really sorry if I'm disappointing you, but I can't change this, nor I want to.**

 **If you want, come say hi on my tumblr at darkcolinodonorgasm ;)**

 **Thank you all again. For everything**

When she opened her eyes, Emma was alone. The warm sunlight filtered through the white curtains, giving the room a completely different appearance than the one it had the night before. Well, not that she'd paid much attention to what surrounded her, she must admit that.

She blushed, pulling the blanket up over her face. She felt like a teenager at her first crush, and, for the first time, it didn't scare her. Of course, Emma knew once out of there the truth would hit her like a punch in the stomach, she knew she was making a mistake, but did not seem able to stop herself.

The door opened, revealing Killian, dressed in jeans and a dark blue shirt. He carried a tray full of food. Emma's stomach started to make somersaults the moment the scent of chocolate hit her nose.

«Good morning, love,» he greeted her with a smile, placing the tray on the bed and sitting down next to her.

«Good morning,» she replied, cheeks still red as she sat up, covering her breasts with the white sheet, ashamed of her nudity.

«Did you sleep well?» Killian asked her softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer, settling her with her back against his chest. He kissed the top of her head, inhaling her scent.

Emma bit her lower lip, craning her neck to look at him. «Strangely enough, I never slept better,» she confessed. It was true: last night she was completely exhausted, but also at peace with herself like never before.

With a bright smile, he bent to kiss her, sweeping his tongue over her lips. Emma's roaring stomach put a halt to what would've turned into more than a kiss, Killian's hand one second away from taking the blanket away from her body to make her his once more.

Pulling away, Killian grabbed the tray and settled it on their knees. Emma's eyes widened at the sight of the amount of food he'd brought with him. At Madame's, portions weren't small, but it never was such a banquet.

«I brought you hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon, peach juice, coconut and strawberries pancakes, peanut butter French toast with more strawberries and chocolate muffins,» Killian listed, handing her the steaming mug first.

Emma avidly drank a few sips after eating the whole amount of whipped cream. «Thank you,» she told him, kissing his coffee-flavoured lips.

«You're more than welcome,» he replied, his eyes seeming to promise he would do anything for her, like placing the whole world at her feet if she so desired. It filled her heart with that warm and strange sensation she'd started not to mind at all.

Despite Emma's hesitation, they ended up emptying the tray: she offered him forkfuls of pancakes as he smeared whipped cream over her cheeks only to lick it away, nibbling the corner of her lips.

«When does this treasure hunt starts?» she asked once she'd finished the chocolate muffin, washing her mouth with the juice.

Killian looked at the time on his phone. It was just past nine, they still had time. «It starts at eleven,» he replied, moving the tray and placing it on the bedside table behind him. He turned towards her, kicking off his shoes and crossing his ankles. «We have a bit of free time…»

It was impossible for her to not notice the suggestive tone he used and, with a grin, she turned around, pressing her breasts against his chest. «And what did you think you'd do in these two hours?» she asked, innocently batting her eyelashes, her fingers tracing the shirt's neckline, the few buttons he always left undone showing a tuft of jet black chest hair. Emma proudly noted one of the hickeys she'd left on his neck was clearly visible. A sense of possess shot through her body.

Killian lifted his eyes to the ceiling, thoughtful. «Perhaps I can find a good book in the castle's library…» he said out loud, massaging his chin with his fingers. Suddenly, Killian pressed her against the mattress, using his weight to block her. «Any idea?»

«I've read- _oh_ ,» Emma exclaimed when his lips found a love mark he'd left just above her right breast.

«Mhm,» he hummed against the skin of her throat, «and what did you read, exactly?» Killian could feel the wild beating of her heart beneath his lips. Emma moaned an unintelligible answer. «Sorry love, I didn't quite hear you.»

«I've- I've read lots of books,» she panted as he moved the sheet, tipping his head to skim his lips against her full breasts.

With his tongue, he traced a circle first around one nipple, rapidly moving to the other. «I, too, have read several different books,» he retorted uncovering more inches of white skin but still keeping Emma under the covers. Killian heard her moan loudly, her legs spreading wider beneath him and allowing him to better settle between her soft thighs. «I wonder if…»

Killian didn't complete the sentence, confusing her for the briefest of moments before he suddenly started rubbing himself against her, his wicked mouth never leaving her breasts. Emma hissed in pleasure, arching up underneath him in search of that friction she needed more than air.

She could feel him hard against her, his every movement spreading electricity all through her body, the sensation pooling in her stomach. «Killian,» she panted, threading her fingers through his dark locks and pulling at them.

It made him growl against her skin. His knuckles were turning white as they gripped tightly at the sheet to keep Emma from moving too much, but without stopping her from bucking her hips upwards, receiving a strangled moan as reward.

«Your skin tastes divinely,» he repeated, grounding down against her.

Emma suffocated another moan, biting her lip. «You already said that,» she managed to let out with a shaky breath, digging her fingers into the flesh of his neck, feeling his vertebrae beneath the skin.

«'S the truth,» Killian murmured, dipping his head to avidly suck one nipple into his mouth, only to free it moments later with a wet _pop_ , «and I'll never tire of repeating it.» His blue eyes were almost glowing, causing her heart to beat faster in her chest.

As the corners of her mouth curled up in a shy smile, Emma pulled him towards her mouth, forcing him to lean forward. He caressed her tongue with his smartly pressing his rock-hard cock against her, applying so much pression she could feel the zipper of his pants deliciously rubbing against her skin even through all the layers between them.

Emma moaned in his mouth, her hands slipping from his neck to assault the buttons of his shirt, hastily unbuttoning it, needing to feel his naked chest against her bare skin. The moment he dug his teeth into the flesh of her lower lip she scratched his chest, her nails sinking into his skin without breaking it but enough to make him lose control. Emma came undone in a matter of seconds as he moved his hips in a circular motion, stimulating her clit, making her see stars.

Killian didn't even let her the time to catch her breath that he ripped the sheets away from her, exposing her luscious body spread out beneath his ravenous stare. He got rid of his shirt, throwing it somewhere behind himself.

Hovering over her, Killian kissed the tip of her nose, completely startling her. «How do you feel?» he asked, this time kissing her shoulder. «I fear last night I was a bit too… rough.»

She pressed her fingers against his lips, forcing him to look her in the eyes. «I'm fine. Alright, perhaps a bit sore, but you've been very… gentle,» Emma assured him, unable of stopping a shadow of doubt from creeping onto her face. She'd always thought her first time, along with the next to come, would be completely different from what she'd experienced last night, painful and unsatisfying. Killian, however, had surprised her, not only thinking about his own pleasure, but about Emma's, too. And oh, how she'd enjoyed it. She smirked, a mischievous light in her eyes. «Besides, I don't mind it rough.»

With a low growl, Killian pounced on her lips, Emma's hands now occupied with his belt, trying to rapidly unfasten it, needing it to come off, along with his pants. He blindly shrugged out of them, his mind focused on kissing every inch of her body, every mark he'd left on her snow white skin.

Suddenly, he rolled them over, and Emma found herself astride of him, her wet sex directly pressing against his cock. They groaned at the sensation, shuddering slightly. She was scorching hot against him, and when she started to move her dripping folds against his member, Killian hissed, tightening the grip on her hips, firm in his decision to let her dictate the rhythm. After all, he didn't want to hurt her.

Feeling the tip of his cock against her clit, Emma shivered, instinctively tightening her knees against his hips. She needed to have him inside her, needed to _feel_ him stretching her until the point she felt like she couldn't take it anymore but still desired more.

«Emma,» Killian moaned, making her stop, afraid she'd done something she shouldn't have. When she opened her eyes, however, she saw that his were closed, his swollen lower lip pulled between his teeth and his head thrown back, exposing the marks-covered neck.

Licking her lips, Emma raised herself on her knees, sliding back until she could bend down and trace with her tongue a pulsating vein beneath the thin skin of his groin.

«Emma, _bloody fuck_ ,» Killian hissed, inhaling deeply when her lips closed around the head of his cock, her wicked tongue swirling around it as she kept her eyes trained on him. His hands found her long golden tresses, fisting them without hurting her, using her hair as an anchor to impede himself from sinking into the abyss instead.

Holding back a smile, Emma continued her sweet torture, taking him deeper into her mouth, feeling a forbidden pleasure in tasting him on her tongue. She'd not been trained to take pleasure in sexual acts, mostly to be an instrument but, she'd be damned, since she first took him in her mouth she'd wanted to taste him again and again.

She blushed at the thought, ignoring that sensation and focusing on pleasuring him, on the way he was hot and hard in her mouth, the blood pulsing beneath the velvety skin. With the tip of her fingers she caressed his balls, earning a strangled groan from him.

«I don't-» Killian cut himself off when she avidly sucked at him. «I don't want to come like this.»

Reluctantly, Emma let him go, not before pumping his cock lightly. She settled back above him, a goddess to his eyes, her irises shining with passion and the hunger she had for him, primordial and unexplainable that threatened to consume her. Truth was, she _longed_ to be consumed by it, by _him_.

She lowered herself on him, closing her eyes as he filled her inch after inch.

«Bloody hell,» Killian groaned, feeling her hot and tight around his cock, the memory of the night before didn't bring justice to the actual sensation of being buried again inside her.

Emma started to move slowly, rolling her hips, her eyes close and lips slightly parted. She widened when he felt him bottom out, reaching deeper than he did the night before.

Killian caressed her hips, slipping his rough hands upwards until he reached her breasts. With his thumbs, he toyed with the turgid nipples, causing Emma's walls to clench around him.

She panted, her nails tracing a trail up his arms, only to tighten her fingers around his wrists, pressing his hands more firmly against her breasts, forcing him to keep them there as she started to move faster above him, moaning loudly.

Squeezing her breasts lightly, Killian bucked his hips, tearing an unexpected scream from the back of her throat. «God, love,» he hissed through his teeth, pushing deeper inside her, wanting, _needing_ to fill her completely, «you're so bloody tight 'round my cock.»

Shivering at his words, Emma started to ride him faster, her thighs straining but she ignored it. Her fingers left his wrists, her hands cushioning her fall when she bent forward, pressing her body against his, her nipples sensitive against his coarse chest hair. Killian's hands traced scorching hot trails down her spine, down until they reached her buttocks, squeezing them roughly as his teeth closed around her earlobe.

She turned her head, panting against his neck, only to drag her teeth along his jaw, her cunt tightening around him. She could feel her orgasm approaching but wasn't _there_ yet.

As if he'd sensed it, Killian sneaked a hand between their sweaty bodies, reaching her clit and flicking it with his deft fingers. The strength of the wave of pleasure increased, pure ecstasy coursing through her veins.

His other hand left her arse, too, and went behind her neck, bring her closer to his face to fuse her lips together with his in a hungry kiss.

«Killian,» she moaned into his mouth when he pressed against her swollen flesh with his fingernail, her thighs clenching and trembling.

In a sudden surge, Killian sat up, a surprised scream falling from her lips as she automatically pressed her knees tighter around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

He circled her waist with his arms, the rhythm of his hips never wavering as he kept pushing up inside her, getting drunk on her sighs and moans, Emma's lips trailing open mouthed kisses on his shoulder. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling her vanilla scent he'd come to enjoy sensing around the house, a flavor that always led him to her.

«Come, Emma,» Killian murmured hoarsely, bringing his hand back on her clit, feeling her shiver above him, instinctively pressing herself even more against his body as if wanting them to fuse together and become one.

Those words were the last push she needed to succumb the intense wave of pleasure. «Killian,» she moaned against his neck.

Killian chanted her name like a prayer as he felt her tighten around him, milking his cock as he spent himself deep inside her.

He fell backwards on the mattress, taking her with him. Panting, he kissed her head as he slowly started to soften inside her, her pussy still twitching with the aftershocks of her orgasm.

Emma nuzzled her cheek against his chest, humming when she felt his hands stroking her back. She could feel his seed ooze out of her, a sticky sensation that should've probably made her feel dirty when it was making her feel alive instead.

She was about to doze off again, sated and exhausted, when Killian spoke. «We should clean ourselves up,» he said, decidedly unwilling to follow his own words. She hummed something unintelligible. «If we're not ready in time, Rora will come here. And she's got the keys.»

Widening her eyes, Emma sat up, making them both moan. Inside her, his cock twitched, starting to harden once again.

Killian closed his eyes for a second. «Vixen,» he grumbled, not annoyed at all, sitting up so suddenly she screamed in surprise. «I've heard that showering together takes less time and water,» he said, picking her up and rising from the bed. Emma let out a whine when he slipped from her, but he kept walking, not allowing her to slip from his hold, not even when he fumbled with the shower's knobs.

«Mhm, are you sure it'll take less time?» Emma cheekily asked him, stealing a kiss from his lips. She jumped in his arms as he stepped under the spray, taking her under it, too.

«Perhaps not,» Killian admitted with no remorse, pressing her against the tiled wall and capturing her lips with his own, intent on making Emma forget her own name.

* * *

The chilly air had nothing to do with the blush spread all over her face, nor with the wide smile she wore, both result of the man who currently had an arm around her waist.

All the marks on her body were concealed by her clothes and make-up, though she doubted anyone would wrinkle their nose in disgust given how some had completely foregone a layer of concealer.

She felt sore between her legs but walking didn't bother her, unlike the cold seeping through her clothes and under her skirt.

They were the last ones to arrive and, despite Aurora's glare – and Philip's wink – Killian didn't seem bothered in the slightest. Instead, he almost looked… proud. Emma lowered her eyes on the tips of her boots, but not before seeing how the tips of his ears were as red as tomatoes.

Aurora was about to finish with the rules: every couple would get a series of clues, six each, that would lead them first to a key and then to the right door.

Emma frowned, wondering what she meant with "door", but she told herself Killian would explain their host's words. Probably.

It was curious, actually: he could've simply show her off to his friends the night before and then go back to Neverland House without having to endure a treasure hunt.

Of course, Killian had told her – or, rather, to her sleeping form – that he wanted to court her. Problem was, Emma didn't know what he meant: he didn't need special gestures to get her in his bed, and after having her the first time, he'd not stopped wanting her.

What she was certain of, was that he didn't want to court her because he thought he could fall in love again, the wound caused by that… witch was still too fresh. It didn't help that the very thought froze the blood in Emma's veins. She could fuck him and go on dates with him to give their marriage a semblance of truth and make that harpy die of envy. This last impulse brought another question, the answer to a bugging doubt: did Killian want Milah back or didn't he?

«Shall we go?»

Killian's voice startled her out of her thoughts, thoughts she shouldn't be having, questions she shouldn't ask, not even to herself.

She lifted her eyes on him, smiling and concealing any emotion that could've slipped out from beneath her mask. Emma nodded, taking his hand and letting him lead her to a secluded corner. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the other couples had their heads bent over little notes and what looked like a map of the maze. Killian, too, had a map in his hand, along with a blue note.

From what she could see, the maze was huge, with lots of cul-de-sacs, some with a statue and some completely empty. More statues and fountains were situated all around. The infamous doors Aurora was talking about earlier were indicated, along with what was behind them. Gazebos, apparently.

Emma cleared her throat. «And what would be the prize?» she asked, slightly confused. «Or is it a surprise?»

She saw him think about it, as if he was trying to decide whether telling her about it or not. «And where would the fun in that be?» He then winked at her, smiling like a teenager.

Emma felt her heart do somersaults in her chest, wondering once more how a man like him could just think about buying himself a wife. No one could erase the fact that he did it, not even his sweet words. He may have done that in order to get revenge or to take Milah back, yet he didn't act like a man who wanted to possess his wife. Killian respected Emma, and it wasn't just a façade.

From her part, Emma knew he wasn't faking it. If there was something she was so sure about at this world, aside from her love for Ruby, was her superpower. Killian kept staying hidden behind those -high walls he was afraid to take down, wounded one too many times to let another person in, but not once he treated her like an object.

Well, aside from that first time, Emma conceded, remembering how humiliated she'd felt at the gallery, the smell of champagne still impressed in her memories. She remembered how infuriated she'd been, surprised by her own outburst of anger.

But, aside from that evening, he only treated her like a human being, and that still stunned her. She would've never expected that. For years, Emma had thought that whoever would become her husband would treat her like a trophy wife, ordering her to do this or that. Killian, instead, had given her only one order: to be free.

She winced, realizing that, in a way, she _was_ free. Perhaps not free to go wherever she wanted in the world, to go back and take Ruby away from the hell they'd been living in, to press charges against Madame, but Killian never forced her to do anything. Here she could have a dog, she could freely roam around Drogheda, she could even continue her studies but, above all, she could tell him _no_.

«Emma?»

Killian's voice made her jump, his concerned stare something she still wasn't used to, his kindness still surprised her.

«I'm fine, I was just thinking,» she murmured with a faint smile, taking the note with the clue from his hand. «" _Tick, tock_ ",» she read, arching a brow in confusion.

She heard him groan, causing her to look up at him with curiosity. On his face she could see an expression halfway through annoyed and amused. «Captain Hook's statue,» he grumbled in explanation.

Emma bit back a smile. «Why not Alice's?»

Killian blushed, running a hand through his hair. «Because I'm, uh, a fan of Hook.»

«Hook?» Emma couldn't hold back her amusement. «Not Peter?»

He gave her a shy look, and she could her own walls in his. There was something deeper than a simple interest for a fictional character, something so guarded like one would guard a secret and, if Emma discovered that secret, he feared she would have him under her control. How could she tell him she probably had already deciphered it?

«Captain Hook's statue it is, then,» Emma announced, hooking her arm to his and stepping towards the entrance of the labyrinth. She felt him relax slightly next to her, which filled her heart both with joy and sadness.

She furrowed her brows, wondering why she wanted him to open up to her, to reveal his every secret. It wasn't to have some kind of power over him, to learn his weaknesses, she just wanted to… understand him. There was so much of Killian Jones she didn't know and she wanted to know everything.

«Aurora commissioned all these statues and gazebos only for this treasure hunt?» Emma asked instead, curious, scrutinizing the hedges towering above them. Luckily the had a map, otherwise it would be the castle's staff hunting down the lost ones.

«In the beginning, there were only the gazebos, then she commissioned one statue and, after that, nobody was able to stop her. She commissioned a lot of them and she didn't want – to the right, love – tacky ones or simply representing Disney characters. She wanted something that reflected the actual characters and their emotions.»

«And do you think they do?»

He gave her a smirk, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. «I shall let you be the judge of that,» was the only thing he said before turning to the left.

Holding back a huff of frustration, Emma tilted her head. «Does placing a hand on one hedge work to reach the center?»

«It doesn't: Jeff designed it so you'll reach a dead end whether you place your hand against the hedge on your right or the one on your left.»

«Jefferson designed the maze?» Emma wondered, astonished. Though she shouldn't have been: the moment she'd stepped into his parlor she'd clearly sensed the _Alice in Wonderland_ vibes. Maybe it was because of his daughter, or perhaps for his own personal passion, yet it still was intriguing.

Killian nodded. «Aurora got a headache when she saw the designs, which is why she adored them since the very beginning. Jeff is a strange man, but he's a good man.»

They ended up in a circular room, which wasn't exactly a dead end since it was an arrival point. At the center of it stood a bronze statue that took Emma's breath away.

It was a wonderful piece of art, finely carved and… sad. Despite it showing the Captain with his cutlass plunged into the heart of a dying crocodile at his feet, in his eyes Emma could only detect sadness. In the end, the revenge he sought for so long had led him to nothing. She remembered reading about his melancholic forget-me-nots eyes, but he'd never imagined them so… _lost_.

There also was a resemblance, something that reminded her of-

Emma whipped her head around, wide eyes locked with Killian. «Why does he look a lot like you?» It wasn't meant to be an accusation; Emma cringed at how it came out. Before she could apologize, Killian chuckled, blushing lightly.

«Did you know that Titian painted a self-portrait in the _Pietà_? Sometimes, it happens to me, too, especially when I feel too connected to the subject.»

She wondered if she was still in time to pick her jaw up from the floor or if it'd already reached the other side of the world. « _You_ made these?» The sound she mad could only be described as a shriek. It made him chuckle, an adorable sound made even more adorable by the way he seemed to duck his head, as if he was embarrassed.

«Aye, well, I simply designed them.»

«You _simply_ created a masterpiece, Killian.»

A quiet intake of breath sounded like a gasp to her ears, the way his eyes widened sent butterflies soaring in her belly. He bent slightly to catch her lips with his, thanking her with his actions when he couldn't find the words to do so.

Surprised, tough not much, Emma kissed him back, her eyes fluttering close. He still tasted a bit like chocolate.

The next clue, carefully hidden in a fold of the Captain's coat, led them to a _Jack and the Beanstalk_ statue.

«Mhm, curious and curiouser,» Emma mused, circling around the statue mainly to admire it rather than to look for the note.

Killian laughed. «Quoting Alice, are you?»

Emma shrugged, blushing a little. «Honestly, it _is_ curious: I would've thought Aurora had commissioned only statues of princesses, with Captain Hook being the exception.» With her fingers she traced the creases of the beanstalk.

«Aurora is something else,» he conceded with an affectionate smile. Emma's hand stopped her path around the sculpture, wondering how he looked when talking about her with his friends. Did he smile like that or was he utterly impassive? Her traitor heart ached at the thought.

«Well,» Emma started, licking her lips and waiting a moment to find the right words, «she created an empire on her own, she _must_ be something else.»

Killian chuckled in agreement, fishing their note out from beneath a large vine, one Emma didn't realize was separated from the beanstalk. She got the impression Aurora made it a bit more difficult for the two of them.

They lost each other twice before reaching their third statue: Snow White and her Prince Charming.

Emma couldn't help the laugh that escaped her lips. Actually, she was laughing so hard her stomach ached and tears were spilling down her cheeks.

The sculpture in front of her was beautiful, but it was the resemblance with two people she knew what did it. From atop the stony pedestal, David and Mary Margaret were looking in front of them. Curiously enough, Killian's portrayal of Snow White exceeded canon: she had long hair and was wearing pants, a quiver full of arrows hanging from her back and a bow in her hand. Prince Charming, instead, had his sword aiming at the passage, as if ready for the battle.

«I don't whether I should feel flattered or outraged by your reaction.» Killian said in a mocking tone.

Emma shook her head, drying her tears. «I'm absolutely stunned,» she reassured him, patting his cheek. «I'm just… surprised. And amused. You twisted Snow White's tale and made her a badass. It's bloody brilliant.» She turned in time for him to crash his lips against hers, backing her toward the nearest hedge, his hands finding her hair and waist.

Humming in surprise, Emma kissed him back, immediately forgetting all about the treasure hunt, the only hunt she wanted to continue was the one that had a more interesting prize to be won.

Only the arrival of another couple broke their brief interlude. Emma blushed deeply, her skin becoming almost as burgundy as the shirt she was wearing. She buried her face into Killian's chest, his body reverberating with laughter as his fingers brushed her hair.

They waited until the couple left them alone, Killian pressing soft kisses on her hair. He yelped in surprise when Emma pressed a kiss against is neck.

«Minx,» he muttered, swatting her arse as she went to circle the statue, trying to find the next clue. It was her turn to yelp, whipping around to look at him with a shocked expression on her face. It was only then that she realized she wasn't acting like she'd been taught to, she was just… being Emma.

The realization shocked her.

She was not used to feel like that, so… free. All her life, Emma had never once felt like that, not even when she was very young, always fearing her attitude could cost her a roof over her head or assure her quite the beating.

This sensation, albeit new and scary, was welcomed. It made her feel alive, more than ever before.

Masking her fear with a smile, Emma walked backwards, titling her head back to see an elaborate key hanging from one of the arrows, a blue ribbon tied around it. She took it, picking it carefully from the statue. «Two more statues?»

«Two more statues.»

Rapunzel. The fourth statue was nothing else than Rapunzel's tower itself, as if Emma needed another reminder of her non-life, of the captive life she'd led and, somehow, still did. _No_ , her mind strongly protested, she wasn't living in captivity. A lie, perhaps, but not in a prison.

She winced when Killian's fingers slipped between hers, as if sensing her distress, the fear that came irradiating off of her. He squeezed her hand lightly, but Emma's eyes were trained on the tower, the bronze shining beneath the sun, almost blinding her, both with its looks and its meaning.

No more than ten minutes earlier – yes, they'd lost once or twice again – Emma was contemplating freedom, thinking about it as something almost tangible, so close, and now she'd been reminded of what she really was: a fraud, someone whose life was a lie.

«You don't have to ever fear going back, love,» Killian murmured in a quiet voice, his breath warm against her temple, slightly ruffling her hair.

There were so many questions she wanted to ask him – why not moving on from a broken heart the normal way, how did he find out about Madame, why _her_? – but the only thing she was able to say was: «thank you.»

No, Emma had not forgotten he'd bought her, and there was still a lingering fear that he would turn out to be very different from the man he'd showed her he was, but she was beginning to think Killian never thought of the consequences of his gesture, of what it actually meant to _own_ someone, to _buy_ a human being.

Perhaps, one day, she will ask him. But not today.

Today, Emma would take the reins of her life, enjoying the freedom she'd be given. She may not be completely free, but it was more than she'd ever dreamed of.

Breathing in deeply, Emma squared her shoulder and reached the tower, taking the blue note from under one of the roof tiles. She smiled reading the clue. « _A merry happy unbirthday to you!_ »

When she lifted her eyes to look into his, Emma detected a hint of sadness in his blue irises.

Killian didn't need the map to reach the biggest statue of them all. It represented a large table, upon which were spread teacups and pots, each one different from the other, their shapes absurd, just like the story required. Alice was a little girl, her face innocent and smiling as she poured herself a cup of tea while sitting between the Mad Hatter – who, absurdly enough, looked a lot like Jefferson – and the March Hare. Yes, Killian's designs were stunning, but the sculptor had done a stellar job.

Emma traced the rim of a teacup with her fingertips when Killian spoke.

« _Alice in Wonderland_ was one of my mother's favourite books,» he whispered, loud enough for her to barely hear him. She turned around, watching how his sad eyes caressed the statue, focusing on the little girl. «It had very much to do with her name, Alice.»

Her heart fluttered in her chest at his words. Emma couldn't quite believe he was opening himself up, giving her such personal information about his mother and his own life. Once again, Killian was considering her at his same level, like a peer, like someone worthy of sharing his past with.

It was Emma's turn to squeeze his hand, bringing it to her lips to kiss his knuckles, her thumb brushing over his wedding ring, a promise to always be by his side.

«I'm sure she's been a wonderful mother if she's managed to raise a son like you,» Emma told him, her other hand coming up to cup his face. «And Liam, too. He's alright, I guess.»

That earned a watery chuckle from Killian, his throat tight with emotion. «Aye, I suppose so.» Her heart clenched at his words, as if he doubted he wasn't a good man.

Albeit many would think he _wasn't_ , especially if they knew the truth about their marriage, Killian wasn't a bad man. During her time at Madame's, Emma had met her fair share of men lusting after barely legal girls, or even underage, but Killian was nothing like those beasts. He was kind, caring, and had a big heart, even if he didn't realize it.

She wasn't trying to justify his actions, but she'd come to see bits of the man beneath the mask, and what she'd seen was enough to tell that, deep down, even unbeknownst to him, Killian had a good heart.

Aurora had assigned them the Wonderland gazebo – surprisingly, Killian had not given his contribute for those – the table there covered with their favourite foods, from savoury to sweet. Emma's mouth watered at the sight.

«Milady,» Killian winked at her, bowing mockingly to invite her to sit at the table.

Emma made a face at him, scrunching her nose and resisting the urge of sticking out her tongue at him. His soft gasp was reward enough, it made her laugh.

It was in moment like this one that Emma wanted to just stop the time, to stay in a bubble – or, in this case, a gazebo – away from everything and everyone, from evil women and horrible men, from people who never cared enough about her.

She wished they could stay forever in that gazebo outside the world, never having to face other people and wear masks. They would be able to open themselves up, to let it all out, to learn how to trust each other and free themselves from their inner demons.

She wished the maze could become her – _their_ – home, not like for the minotaur, forced in there to keep people safe, but like a sanctuary, a safe haven, to keep the rest of the world out, the pain and everything else that would only hurt them further.

If only it could be that simple.


End file.
